Stealing Bases (6 page)

twelve

“Come on. . .” Missy pleads with me the following Saturday night. “We’re going to Pinkberry. . . . You know the brownie bites are amazing.” She pulls up in front of the yogurt shop.

I pick my head up from the cool glass and shrug. Missy’s right—I could use a dose of chocolate right now. Maybe it will pick me up off the floor. Since I lost my starting position, it’s like I’m numb. I can barely bring myself to think about prom. Or about the invite I haven’t answered yet. And let me just say this: it’s hard to avoid someone (aka Zachary) when you literally live right in his backyard.

“Anyway, Jess and Tamika tell me you’ve been sulking the whole time I was out sick. . . .” Missy flips open the visor and checks her raw nose in the reflection, dabbing it with her index finger. “Urgh. My nose will never look the same.”

“I’m not sulking,” I lie.

But the truth is that I totally have been. Bad. The only thing I can bring myself to do is watch last year’s softball games. Over and over again. I’ve been trying to study the film, to attempt to see what changed, to figure out why Coach went with Amber instead of me. But I keep coming back to the same conclusion: whatever happened, it doesn’t matter. I
have
to earn my spot back.

“Yeah, you’re definitely sulking . . .” Missy adds.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.

“Pouter,” Missy teases.

“Princess,” I joke.The nickname brings a smile to my face for a half a second—it’s from Missy’s Disney period. But then it hits me—princess, prom princess, my mom, Zachary’s invite . . . I let out a sigh.

Missy rubs her glossed lips together. “The only person who still calls me princess is Andrew Mason, and that’s exactly how he should treat me for eternity after his lame attempt at being Beachwood’s biggest bad boy.”

“Not exactly the bad-boy type, huh?”

“Andrew is about as bad boy as Elmo.”

We burst into giggles.

“Now, stop being such a downer. Think of tonight as a Pinkberry pick-me-up.”

I shrug. Without wheels of my own, it’s not like I really have a say anyway. I turn to look at the store entrance and discover that it’s mobbed. “I hate how
everyone
goes here,” I whine.

“Uh, hello? It’s not like that takes away from the tangy goodness.”

I’m about to make some comment about how all that tanginess is clearly getting to Missy’s head when she pulls into a spot, and I notice the car parked next to us: Tamika’s white jeep. Out come Abby, Zoe, Eva, and Jessica. Then in pulls Violet Montgomery, Hannah’s ultra-popular sister, in her silver Mercedes. Sure enough, Hannah and Taylor pile out. “I thought it was just me and you tonight. . . .”

“Me, you, and the basketball team,” Missy says, in between applications of pink lip gloss. “Because I don’t think I can deal with your
oh-my-God, the-world-is-ending
attitude for one more second without some additional reinforcements.”

“Hannah too?”

“She’s getting me into college, remember?”

I stare at her blankly.

“Ky, I may be trying to rescue you from your whole woe-is-me moment, but Mama’s gotta think about the future.”

I shake my head in mock disbelief and step out of the car.

“Ky!”Violet calls out to me from the driver’s seat of her Mercedes. She puts down her phone as I approach. “Late practice today?” Violet’s nose crinkles as she scans my outfit—shorts, a practice tee, and my Adidas slides.

I look down at my choice of attire—it’s painfully obvious that I have nowhere to go on a Saturday night. “Uh. Yeah.”

Violet leans in through the open window. “Why don’t you and Missy ditch these losers and hang out with us tonight?” She giggles, glancing at her sister. Then she places her hand over her mouth in fake shock, as if just realizing that she may not have been out of hearing range. “That is. After you change.”

“Love to, Vi. But I can’t ditch my girls.”

“Good point. How would they know what to order without you?” Violet replies sarcastically.

“Right.” I pause and my mind goes where it shouldn’t. “Is Zachary going out tonight?”

Why did I let that slip out?

She narrows her eyes. “Why do you care? Thought you guys were
finito
.”

“Yeah, we are. It’s just”—I struggle for a response—“that I’m worried he’s lost without me. You know how
boys
are. . . .”

“Oh, I
do
. And Zach is the worst of them. He’s kind of like a lost little puppy.”

“He is?” I ask, momentarily full of hope.

“Yeah, a lost little puppy who’d hump anything in sight!”

“Yeah . . .” I break out laughing. It’s the only thing to do. “Too bad he’s a stray.”

“Ooh, I’m gonna tell him you said that!”

“Uh—I’m counting on it.”

“Alrighty, well, gotta bounce. Catch ya on the flip,” she announces. Then she pulls away.

When I walk over to my friends, they’re already waiting in line, deep in conversation.

“Tamika, did you see the sketch I sent you?” Hannah asks, looking lost without her skateboard.

Tamika’s face lights up. “Yup. I opened it yesterday.”

“And . . . What do you think?” Missy asks, rubbing her hands together.

Tamika breaks into a wide smile. Out of nowhere, a toddler bumps into her.

“Sorry.” The harried mother follows close behind the boy.

See what I mean? Crowded.

Tamika regains her balance. “Anyway. I love it! Especially the color.”

“Apricot is a great shade for you . . .” Hannah says as we reach the counter.

I look up to read the menu and find that I’m face-to-face with Dwight, Tamika’s ex. I always forget that he works parttime at Pinkberry.

“Looks like apricot is a good color for you too, Dwight,” I say, motioning to his official Pinkberry collared shirt. In addition to being Tamika’s ex, Dwight is one of Zachary’s teammates and yet another three-B offender. So, he’s definitely deserving of my full-on wrath.

Dwight adjusts his beige apron in an attempt to hide his shirt from view. It doesn’t work.

“Nice apron.” I smirk.

“Oh, you know I make this look good,” Dwight replies, all macho man.

I laugh. “Uh-huh. If that’s what you tell yourself . . .”

Oblivious, Hannah interrupts. “Excuse me, can I order?”

Dwight turns to face her. “I’m sorry. Welcome to Pinkberry. Would you like to try one of our original flavors?”

“No, I know what I want. An original with Fruity Pebbles and chocolate chips, please,” Hannah says.

Fruity Pebbles? Seriously?

I look around for Missy and notice that she’s come to stand next to Hannah. “Are you adding the silk to Tamika’s dress like you were talking about?” she asks, bright eyed.

I stifle a major sigh. She’s way more into the whole Hannah thing than she’s letting on. Marketing experience for college
—yeah, right.

“Do I hear you talking about my girl’s prom dress?” Dwight asks.

“
Your
girl?” Tamika asks. “Sorry, but I think you may have the wrong person.”

Good for her
, I think. The “my girl” part almost made me want to take Hannah’s yogurt and throw it at him.

I’m about to give Tamika a hug so she knows I understand what she’s going through when I hear Dwight say, “Oh, you’ll always be my girl.” And then, turning to the group, “I can’t wait to see it. Tamika looks amazing no matter what she wears.”

The two of them beam at each other, and I have to stop myself from gagging.
He’s definitely hanging out with Zachary way too much.

Then he turns to the rest of us. “Anything else, ladies?”

Eva and Jessica order, followed by Zoe and Abby. I follow suit, paying as quickly as possible. Then I grab my cup and—ignoring the fact that Taylor still hasn’t ordered—I usher my teammates along, attempting to locate a table. As usual, it’s standing room only.

“Told you guys. It’s crawling with tourists.” I make a big show of gesturing to the full tables, and that’s when I notice Missy’s sweater. “Uh, Miss . . .”

She looks down and spots a blotch of yogurt on her cashmere.

“Ew!” She digs into her bag and pulls out a tissue.

I roll my eyes and spoon a brownie into my mouth.

“Beach?” Jessica suggests, pointing her plastic spoon south toward the surf.

“Ugh . . . we’ll never find parking, and it’s a ten minute walk,” Missy whines, desperately trying to erase the soon-to-be stain.

“Someone hasn’t worked out since basketball,” I say, bumping into Missy. She deserves it.

Missy hip checks me back. “Someone is an Oscar the Grouch today.”

She’s got me there.

Once we reach the beach, the cool ocean wind whips our napkins, sending Eva’s sailing across the sand. She takes off after it, grabbing it before it soars into the surf. Taylor arrives a few seconds later.

The fog has lifted from earlier, but with the sun setting, it leaves a sharp chill in the air. I pull my Beachwood Softball warm-up jacket tight around my chest and, as I do so, my stomach sinks.
I guess this will be the last jacket I ever get with the
P
for pitcher on the sleeve
.

I’m about to share this great revelation with Missy when I realize that she’s already taken a seat on the semi-deserted beach and is busy flipping through the prom issue of
Seventeen
with her new BFF, Hannah. Disgruntled, I spoon another scoop of Pinkberry into my mouth and squeeze in next to Jessica.

As Missy turns the pages, I catch sight of a prom ad from out of the corner of my eye. The photo is difficult to miss—the guy pictured looks just like Zachary, dimple and all. Immediately, my mind flips back to the unanswered invite.
What am I going to do about the prom?

“Is that the dress you’re using as inspiration?” Abby asks, looking at the ad over Hannah’s shoulder. She tucks a piece of dirty blonde hair behind her ear.

“Maybe . . .” Missy says, smiling at Hannah.

I take another spoonful and almost choke on my yogurt. Missy is being so super-sweet to Hannah. If she thinks I believe for one second that she’s not loving every minute of this . . .

“I can’t wait to see my sketch,” Jessica says, clutching her white dish of pomegranate with toasted almonds.

“Or what about when Colin sees you in it . . . ?” Taylor chimes in.

The prom talk continues, but I force myself to tune it out. Naturally, this only manages to make my thoughts return to Zachary.
What if I refuse his invitation and he goes with someone else? Would it be worse than if I say yes and he thinks that means that I forgive him? Maybe if I just go with him as friends . . .

Finally, I just can’t take it anymore. “Seriously? You guys are really letting Hannah design your prom dresses?”

Hannah grins proudly.

I shoot her a death stare.

“So, Kylie, are you in?” Jessica asks, elbowing me. “You should see the stuff Hannah is working on—it’s amazing.”

I scan my teammates. “For the last time, I’m good. Missy and I always shop together with our moms for our big day dresses. We’ve been doing it since like preschool graduation.” I glance at Missy.

She looks down.

What I really want to say is I can’t believe my teammates would trust someone who thinks that sewing mini Care Bears onto bags is fashion. (Not to mention the truth: that dress shopping is my mom’s thing.)

Hannah nudges Missy with the magazine.

“What?” I say, annoyed that Hannah now thinks it’s her responsibility to tell Missy when to talk.

Missy looks at Hannah out of the corner of her eye. “It’s nothing,” she says.

“No, what?” I ask, demanding an answer.

Again, they look at each other. And that’s when it dawns on me: I know that look. People used to have it all the time when talking about Zachary. They know something that I don’t.

Missy comes over to sit next to me. “Ky—please don’t take this the wrong way—I actually have to wear a dress from our line. You know, to show off my marketing materials on my college app. So, I’m working on it with Hannah.”

“What?!?”

“Before you freak, it’s for college. I
have
to.” She tugs at my jacket. “It’s not like I
want
to.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I lean in and whisper, “You know you’re going to look like a freak, right?”

“Ky, will you just trust me that I know what I’m doing?” Missy asks, her voice rising. Then she gets up and walks back over to Hannah, the magazine still in hand. “What cut are we going with for Tamika’s neckline again?” she asks.

“AV-neckline,” Hannah answers.

“Right. AV-neckline,” Missy repeats, flipping through the magazine.

She’s sucking Hannah for everything she can.

Tamika moves her arms like she’s dancing. “I’m going to look so fine for senior prom this year and I didn’t even have to worry about shopping.”

“How do you know what to make?” Zoe asks Hannah.

“It’s sketchy.” She lets out a loud laugh. “Get it? Sketchy.” She cracks herself up. “No, seriously. Somehow the ideas come to me and then one day it just meshes.” Hannah shrugs her shoulders.

“So, is Vi letting you design her dress too?” I cut in.

Hannah breaks out in another fit of giggles. “Do skateboards fly?”

The group snickers.

“She’s like you,” Hannah says, lifting her nose in the air.

“And how’s that?” I ask, daring Hannah to call me a snob.

She looks like she’s about to take the bait when Jessica changes the topic. “So, what does Taylor’s dress look like?” she asks.

“At first I was going with all white, but now I’m thinking a gray or a silver,” Hannah says, crunching down on her Fruity Pebbles.

“But I totally trust Hannah.” Taylor beams. “She’ll know what works for me.”

I roll my eyes. It’s getting way too thick. I jokingly attempt to gag myself with my spoon. Abby and Zoe giggle.

Taylor, on the other hand, doesn’t laugh. (Not that I’d expect her to.) But then she surprises me by slowly looking up at me, a newfound awareness in her eyes. “What’s the deal, Ky? You seem so down. This isn’t just about softball is it?”