Stealing Bases (11 page)

twenty-two

“There’s our softball stud!” Brooke Lauder calls out as I make my way into the school quad for the junior class assembly. I eye Brooke suspiciously. Besides Missy, she’s my only other real threat for prom princess. (Unless Missy is wrong and losing Zachary and my softball spot have totally spoiled my chances.)

“Come sit down!” Missy exclaims. Missy and Brooke are spread out on the kelly green grass, devouring a plate of strawberries, mangoes, and red grapes. Andrew, Nick, and Brett sit beside them.

I fall down onto the grass and take it all in. The lawn feels like a soft comfy carpet. Across from me is a huge, white gazebo with an enormous dessert table. Next to the gazebo is a small stage decorated with balloons and a BEACHWOOD ACADEMY PROM COURT banner. Everything is royal blue and white, our school colors. Round tables dot the courtyard.

“Ky! How’s it going?” Phoenix stops in front of me, blocking my view. “Are you nervous?”

Is she asking if I’m nervous because she thinks I’m not going to be selected?

“What?” I snap.

Phoenix. I didn’t even think of Phoenix as a potential problem. Pheonix was on the Snow Ball Court in eighth grade. She’ll definitely make it.

“Prom court. You’re a shoo-in,” Phoenix says.

“Oh. Yeah,” I say, deflating like a balloon.

“I still can’t believe prom and the Desert Invitational are on the same day. What a bummer.” Phoenix sighs.

“Yeah, sucks big time,” Eva adds, joining us.

I’m tempted to say:
No, living in your boyfriend’s backyard with no mom who understands you sucks big time.
But instead I keep it simple. “Uh-huh . . .”

They give each other a look that says,
Let’s get out of here. Kylie’s gonna blow.
Then, in a rush, they say, “See ya!” and bolt.

“Aren’t the strawberries divine?” Brooke says, totally clueless about what just happened. She crosses her outstretched legs, bringing together the thigh-high socks she wore to go with her miniskirt.

“You’re so European now. You even have the faux Madonna accent. . . .” Missy snickers, popping a piece of melon into her mouth.

Nick butts in. “So, I hear there are only three spots for girls on prom court.”

“So?” Brooke says, annoyed that anyone would get in the way of her strawberry-popping session.

“So, there’s three of you here. And like two hundred other junior girls.” Nicks grabs a strawberry straight out of Brooke’s hand and scarfs it down.

“You pig!” Brooke pouts.

“I try. But really, are you girls going to pull each other’s hair out?”

Missy eyes them conspiratorially. “We aren’t going to have to. We’re the only ones who matter.”

Brett and Andrew crack up at that one. Nick shakes his head and says, “Keep dreaming.” Then he gets up and walks over to the spread. Andrew immediately follows suit. A second later, Brett glances at me and does the same.

As the guys walk away, I think to myself:
Nick’s right. There’s only room for three girls on the court. Brooke and Missy will make it. And then, Phoenix will be called too. And I’ll be left out. The class won’t vote for a benchwarmer.

A familiar voice interrupts my disastrous train of thought. “How’s our future princess?” Zachary asks. He sits down next to me, places two plates to his left, and begins running his fingers through my blonde locks. “I know of at least one worthy prince,” he whispers.

My cheeks heat up. I glance at Missy and see that she’s staring at us. “Whatever,” I say, quickly scooching away from Zachary.

But not before Missy decides that she wants to put some distance between herself and the Murph Man.

“Uh, Ky,” Missy says. “I think Brooke and I are going to go see how Ms. Sealer is handling all the preparations.”

“Yeah, for the announcement
très important
,” Brooke says.

Then they both get up.

When I turn back to Zachary, he’s holding two plates filled with treats. “Sweets for my girl,” he announces. He hands me a plate with a chocolate chip cookie, two strawberries, and a cherry-cheese Danish.

“Nice line, Romeo.” I roll my eyes. From a distance, I swear I can hear Missy and Brooke gossiping about me. I stand up.

“Where are you going?” Zachary asks.

“Uh, to hit up the buffet.”

“But what about the plate I got you?”

I calm the flutters in my stomach and remind myself that I’m in front of my friends. “I’m quite capable of getting my own, thank you.”

Then I turn around and bump into my worst nightmare. Amber.

“Hey, Ky!” She beams, looking more pink than pale.

What’s going on? She’s supposed to be dying! (Or something.)

“Isn’t this delish? We never had this kind of spread at my old school. Our junior prom was like no big deal. Here it’s absolutely huge! I’m so excited to . . .” A donut rolls off her plate and plops on the grass. “Oops.” She giggles.

I stare at it. Then I look up at her. “Wait. What the heck are you doing here?”

Amber’s freckled-covered nose wrinkles. “What are you talking about? I go here, remember?” She giggles again, in her cute,
you-can’t-hate-me
voice.

“No. I mean, what are you doing back? I thought you were sick!” I kind of scream the last word.

“Oh. Yeah, that.” She gets a better hold on her plate of fruit and Danish. “I’m all better now. Just needed forty-eight hours of antibiotics. I get strep all the time. . . .”

I try to think fast. “Then you should really get your tonsils out soon. Like don’t even wait for softball season to be over. They could get really bad.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Amber giggles some more. “There’s nothing wrong with my tonsils. By the way . . .” Her face lights up. “Thanks so much for filling in for me yesterday.”

Filling in? Urgh!! She took my spot.

“I heard you did amazing. We’re really a great team!”

When were we ever a team?

“I almost forgot.” She digs into the pocket of her jeans. “I made you this.” Amber holds out a blue-and-white beaded necklace. “I’m so sorry about the starting spot. Hopefully this will brighten your day.”

“Yeah . . . Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes as I grab the necklace. I shove it in my pocket and steady my nerves by feeling for the pendant around my neck.

“I just love B-Dub.” Amber looks around at our classmates. Then her eyes flit to the stage. She covers her mouth with a napkin and moves in closer to my ear. “I wouldn’t tell anyone else this, but since we’re practice partners and all . . .”

Yeah, practice partners. Lucky me.

“I would totally die right here if I was picked to be on the prom court. Not that I’d ever make it in a million years.” She giggles for the umpteenth time.

No kidding you’d never make it.

Amber must not notice the irritated expression on my face because she continues. “But, it’s weird. It’s like this year, here at B-Dub, I feel like I’m coming into my own. Did you see how the lacrosse guys held up those
K
signs for me? Because of my strikeouts?”

“Yeah, I saw the signs all right.” I snarl.
She’s not the only one who got signs. . . .

She sighs dramatically. “But I don’t feel like a real B-Dub student yet. You know? And it’s like if I made prom court, I would finally prove to everyone that I’m a true Wildcat, and not just some girl who dropped in out of nowhere because her parents got divorced.” She pauses. “Do you know what I mean?”

Yeah, actually, I do. But honestly, what does she want me to say? First she swipes my spot. Now she wants prom court? If she thinks I’m letting her take that too . . .

“Okay, students, take your seats,” Ms. Sealer shouts into the microphone. “It’s time to announce the court.”

“Amber!” Danielle yells out from one of the picnic tables.

“See ya.” Amber beams at me. Swiftly, she jogs over to Danielle, waving at me as she goes.

“Yeah, good luck. You’re gonna need it,” I say, with every ounce of sarcasm I possess. Fortunately, she’s too far away to catch my tone.

I make my way to the picnic table where Missy is sitting with some of our other friends. As I settle into a fabric-covered chair, I take a deep breath.
This is my moment
, I think.
I’m not going to let Amber get to me.

I reach over to Missy’s plate to grab a grape when I catch sight of the table next to us. It’s filled with the usual suspects—Zachary, Nick, Andrew, Brett, Dwight, and the rest of the guys from the basketball team. As always, they’re goofing off. All of that would be fine except that Zachary isn’t participating. In fact, he isn’t even looking at them.

He’s looking directly at Amber.

twenty-three

“It’s that time of year again!” Ms. Sealer, our student council club advisor, shouts.

The courtyard fills with cheers.

“Give it to me, cougar,” Nick yells.

Missy makes a big show of rolling her eyes at Nic Missy makes a big show of rolling her eyes at Nick. Then she whispers to me, “Sealer and Chris Olay were so last year.”

A few administrators charge toward Nick.

He shrugs like he knew this was only a matter of time, and follows the staff out of the quad.

Ms. Sealer clears her throat and smoothes out the wrinkles in her Tahari suit. “Time to announce the junior class prom court! Remember, your prom prince and princess will be chosen from this court.”

This is it. . . .

Again, cheers erupt, this time even louder than the last.

Missy eyes me, meaningfully—I can’t tell if it’s meant to be the look of a competitor or a friend.

“Just a reminder that the prom will be held at the Beachwood Country Club two weeks from Saturday.” Ms. Sealer tensely clicks her Jimmy Choo heel against the edge of the microphone base. (All this work must be getting to her.)

Then she continues. “We will have a royal-blue carpet at the club entrance. And we will be . . .”

I begin to lose focus on what Ms. Sealer is saying and take stock of the girls sitting around my table—Missy, Brooke, Phoenix.
How many of them are actually threats?

I feel myself starting to get queasy and force myself to pay attention.

“As you know, we traditionally do things a little bit differently here at Beachwood.” Ms. Sealer pauses, pulling out a crinkled piece of paper from her jacket pocket. “You voted three junior girls and boys to represent you on the junior class court. From this selection, one girl and one boy will be chosen as your prince and princess come prom night.” She claps her hands, further crinkling the paper between her palms.

A few classmates clap, looking around nervously.

“First off, I’m going to name the girls,” she says, looking as if this is some kind of great revelation.

“Ladies first!” Andrew yells out.

Then silence fills the air.

Please call my name. Please call my name.

“Missy Adams.”

Missy lets out a little cheer and jumps out of her chair, nearly knocking it over. She makes a beeline for the stage and beams as Ms. Sealer places the royal-blue sash over her black Theory tank.

My stomach lurches.

Missy gives me a tiny wave as a hush falls over the audience once again.

Please call my name. Please call my name.

“Brooke Lauder.”

More woots and cheers.

Brooke delicately stands up and sashays up to the stage. Ms. Sealer lays the sash on top of her Rebecca Taylor cardigan.

This is it . . . my last shot.

My stomach literally sloshes back and forth.

“And finally, I’m proud to announce . . .”

Don’t let it be Phoenix.

“Kylie Collins.”

For a second, I don’t move.

More cheers ring out. I hear Amber whistle as I gingerly make my way toward the stage. I stand next to Missy and she squeezes my hand. “We did it,” she whispers as Ms. Sealer lays the sash over my shoulder.

I look up at the hundreds of students staring at us. Eva claps wildly. Phoenix manages to pull herself out of her obvious disappointment to whistle. Brett screams, “Yeah, Ky-lie!” I breathe relief.
At least something in my life went right.
I can’t wait to tell my mom.

“Now for the guys,” Ms. Sealer announces.

I’m so on cloud nine that I don’t care what people think—I try to sneak a peek at the one guy I really care about. Even if his eyes weren’t where they were supposed to be just moments ago. But that’s when I realize that he’s not at his table.

Before I know what I’m doing, I find myself searching for Amber. Finally, I find her at a table with Danielle and a bunch of random girls who I barely know. And who should be sitting next to her but Zachary Michael Murphy.

What the . . .
If he’s trying to grab some fresh meat, I’m gonna . . .

I try to divert my eyes. Maybe Zachary’s just trying to dig up some info on Amber’s transfer.

But I can’t manage to convince myself that that’s really what he’s up to. I look back at them. By now, Amber’s leaning against Zachary’s toned right arm.

My breath catches in my throat as the prom court announcements continue.

“Andrew Mason.”

Here we go.

Andrew steps up onstage and plants a sweet kiss on Missy’s cheek. He tosses his sash over his head and files behind her, beginning the second horizontal line.

I start breathing faster. Zachary is a shoo-in. He better look away from Amber soon or he’s going to miss his name. Not to mention other things in his life . . . like me.

“Matt Moore.”

Taylor’s boyfriend. Any other day and I’d be pissed that Taylor even came close to being a part of all this. But not today. Today I’m too busy trying to figure out why
my
Zachary is talking to
my
arch nemesis.

Matt looks around sheepishly and moves behind Brooke. Ms. Sealer awkwardly attempts to place the sash across his hoodie. After a while, she gives up and hands the sash to Matt. He shoves it in his front pocket.

“And last but certainly not least, Zachary Murphy.”

Zachary skips the steps, hops onto the stage, and grabs his sash from Sealer. He confidently walks right up to me.

Oh no you don’t
.

He tries to hug me, but I step to the side. Then he lunges toward me again, attempting to plant a kiss on my cheek. I move like I’m in the batter’s box avoiding brushback pitches.

“Congratulations to all the nominees,” Ms. Sealer shouts, ignoring the face-off between me and Zachary. Turning to the crowd, she announces, “This is your Beachwood Academy Junior Prom Court.” Then she waves for us to move together for a picture.

Immediately, everyone begins to wrap their arms around one another. Still avoiding Zachary, I sprint to the other side of the pack. Then I shove between Brooke and Matt Moore, secretly enjoying the fact that Zachary’s attention is back to where it should be. Me.

Zachary follows, annoying the prom court’s other members. He maneuvers between Matt Moore and me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I’m too squished in to move.

“Congrats, Ky,” he says in my ear.

Tingles creep down my spine.

“See, me and you. It’s fate. Now you gotta to go to the prom with me.”

I turn around to wrestle Zachary’s arm off my shoulders. I haven’t had time to sort out the zillion emotions still swirling in my stomach. I don’t want our fates to be sealed together for all photographic eternity.

Of course, that’s when Zachary kisses my cheek.

And before I have a chance to wiggle away, my fate is decided for me: Ms. Sealer snaps the photo.