Page 13 of The Strike Zone

But nothing. Nada. Zip.

Next to me, Tanner was shaking his head, reading the email on his phone.

“What’re you going to do?”

“I dunno.”

“You still like her though, right?”

“Yes, Tan, I still like her. My feelings haven’t changed in the last twenty minutes since I read this.”

“So what’re you going to do then?”

“I haven’t got that far yet.”

He was just about to jump in with another response, but instead, Coach’s voice boomed from the front. He was so loud, that sitting in the back row of the auditorium wasn’t just about not appearing like a brown nose. It was to save on hearing loss. Besides, we’d already done our time on the front row. That was rookie territory, and this season’s influx were all primed and ready.

“All present and correct?” he asked, not waiting for a response. “Good. Everyone, sit your asses down, and listen up.”

It took longer than it should have for silence to descend, the energy in the room was buzzing hard off our win. The main doors to the auditorium clanged back and forth as the last few guys rushed in to take a seat, sprinting up the steps in case they were late, only to slow down when they realized there were still half a dozen others behind them.

Tanner’s hand shot in the air as Lux walked in, taking the steps two at a time to where we’d saved him a seat. He looked like he’d come straight from the field, but the game ended an hour ago.

“Where’ve you been?”

“With Radley.” He grinned.

I held in the eye roll. Of course he had.

I liked Radley, I liked her a lot. She was a sweet girl, and she was fun to have around the apartment. It also made me happy that my boy Lux was happy. On the flip side—without sounding melodramatic—it only served to remind me how completely alone I was.

I mean, notalonealone.

But I’d spent the whole of this year so far, and a good portion of last year, counting down the days until I could ask Scout on a date. Getting to this point had not been the easy path it should have been, and now this fucking form was making it even harder.

It was all my fault.

I should have asked her out the first time I’d laid eyes on her.

I still remember the day. I was walking back in from practice and the social team had set up a table by the doors with a sign next to it that read:apples or oranges?

On the table had been two huge crates of both, Scout had been standing in between them, long blonde hair tied up in a thick ponytail of waves, swaying down her back.

It had been her eyes I’d noticed first; big and blue, like staring into an ocean, but with a warmth you don’t always get with blue eyes. Mesmerizing. Her smile came next, beaming from ear to ear with just that hint of challenge because she knew exactly what she was about to ask—juggle the fruit, and let us film it.

She was smart, too, lining up Ace first, who was easily the most competitive of us.

Like giving candy to a baby.

Ace being Ace picked up three oranges, tossed them in the air, and we all watched as they fell to the ground when he missed them. Scout’s laugh peeled out—genuine and infectious—as Ace sprinted after one of the oranges that had rolled down the pathway.

“You next,” she’d said eventually, with a twinkle in her eye and even more of a challenge to her tone.

Could I do better, or worse?

I had never, in any moment before or since, been grateful to my mom for forcing me to take part in Westlake Elementary’s second grade talent contest. The one where I’d practiced nonstop for a week trying to juggle the baseballs that I always left lying around the house.

I picked up three apples and tossed them in the air. On the second rotation, I picked up a fourth, then fifth, at which point Ace snatched one away to eat, and I nearly dropped the rest.

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