Page 36 of The Art of Catching Feelings

The hours of this new job were going to take some getting used to. Even though it had been an afternoon game, by the time she did everything she had to and met everyone at the stadium, and then grabbed dinner, Daphne didn’t get home until after eleven. She was bone-tired but also too keyed up to go right to sleep.

“My poor little Milo,” she said, crouching down to pour a cup of food into his empty dish. He was going to have to adjust to this new schedule, too, because he was used to getting his dinnertime meal much earlier. She’d fed him before she’d had to leave for her hair appointment, but already that felt like ages ago. Before she’d texted a picture of Milo over to Chris as Duckie, before she’d overheard him talking about how unqualified she was for this job as Daphne.

It shouldn’t hurt, maybe. He wasn’t wrong. But it had definitely stung, that reminder that no matter how friendly they were through texts, it still didn’t change how he felt abouther.

She opened her text messages, hesitating for a second before starting to type.

What walk-up song did you end up going with?

Definitely disingenuous. She’d been at the game, after all—she’d heard the music pumped over the loudspeakers in thestadium. But she couldn’t remember hearing anything before he came up to bat, and she didn’t know if that’s because there was no song or because she’d somehow spaced out and missed it each time. There had been a lot happening on the sidelines, notes to review, people constantly updating her with information or telling her the next cue for a segment. She hadn’t been able to pay attention as much as she’d wanted to.

C: Still can’t decide. Marv gave me the option of some instrumental track he’d found, or nothing. For now, I’m going with nothing.

C: (Marv’s the team manager.)

Daphne knew that, of course. She’d even talked with him briefly today in the middle of the seventh inning, asking him questions about how he felt about the starting pitcher’s performance.

D: I have a strategy.

C: Let’s hear it.

D: Pick one of those songs that tells people what to do. Like the Cha Cha Slide or the Cupid Shuffle or whatever. Then while the opposing team is distracted—they’re all to the left, to the left, walking it by themselves, that sort of thing—bam! You hit it out of the park.

She sat down on her bed, tucking her legs beneath her. She’d already changed into her pajamas and put her hair into a pineapple-looking bun on the top of her head like she usually did before going to sleep, but she knew it would be a bit before she’d even try to settle down.

C: There’s only one problem.

It was a corny attempt at humor? And didn’t even make any sense, because of course the song ended by the time the at-bat started, and if the pitcher was busy dancing, how could he throw the pitch for Chris to hit, and on and on.

C: Won’t I also be afflicted by the Cupid Shuffle?

She grinned down at her phone.

D: I thought you said you don’t dance.

C: I don’t.

D: Then you should be immune. But I guess there’s only one way to find out…

It was wrong, what she was doing here with Chris. It would be extra wrong if she used these texts as a way to glean information as Duckie that he probably wouldn’t want Daphne to know. At the same time, what she most wanted to find out was how he really felt about his heckler working with the team, whether he’d meant it when he said he didn’t want her to quit.

But just as she was reminding herself that there was no way she could ask, Chris surprised her by opening up the topic himself.

C: You ever say something you really regret?

D: Only every day of my life.

D: Seriously, though, I second-guess half the stuff I say. They always tell you that other people don’t think about your words as much as you do, but then I think about how much I overthink EVERYTHING including other people’s words so that doesn’t always help.

D: And that…was probably not helpful at this exact moment. See, I’ve done it again.

C: No, that’s exactly it. Like in high school they were always telling you that nobody else would notice a pimple on your face, but I always noticed other people’s pimples.

D: Oh god. I’d be mortified if we’d gone to high school together. I always used to break out on my forehead, which is why I had bangs for so long.

C: I bet you were cute with bangs. And I don’t necessarily mean notice in a bad way. If anything, it was endearing. When someone has a flaw you know they’re self-conscious about, but you wish they could see themselves the way you see them.

Something about his words made her sad, but she didn’t knowwhy. Maybe it was just the comedown from all the adrenaline of the day.

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