Page 142 of Left on Base

It’s been nine days since we last talked. Not that I’m counting.

“Ma’am, here’s your coffee,” Brayden says, sliding it over.

I sprinkle cinnamon on top, and then—of course—I hear the words I hoped I’d never hear again.

“BUSH GIRL!”

Yep, that dude.

My stomach flips. I’m not over that whole bush-diving incident, but also, the last time I saw Fork Guy was with Jaxon in the ER. And as he approaches, I wonder for the millionth time, did he read it? Does he know my secrets?

Fork Guy pirouettes into line, his bedazzled eye patch now covered in—are those tiny plastic spoons? Yes, yes they are.

You’re probably wondering this, but Fork Guy’s real name is Kody, but he doesn’t look like a Kody, so Fork Guy it is.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he announces, loud enough for everyone, “but Emerald let me borrow her rose quartz!Apparently it promotes love and healing. Or maybe that was amethyst.” He tilts his head, debating. “I wasn’t really listening. She was doing this thing with her hair and—” He stops, squinting at my shirt. “Hold up. You play softball?”

“Yeah?” I sip my coffee.

“This is perfect!” He’s vibrating with excitement. “Can I throw the first pitch at your next home game? I’ve been practicing. Watch?—”

“Sir,” Brayden interrupts, “your matcha oat milk lavender honey rose petal CBD spiral latte with extra foam art is ready.”

What the fuck did he order?

“One sec,” Fork Guy says, then turns to Brayden. “Did you stir it counterclockwise? It’s important for my chakras. Emerald says?—”

“I stirred it in the shape of infinity,” Brayden deadpans. “Your third eye’s fine.”

Fork Guy grabs his ridiculous drink and turns back, suddenly serious—as serious as someone with a utensil-studded eye patch can be. “Hey, what’s with you and Baseball Boy? He’s moodier than usual. Wouldn’t even let me bedazzle his hat.”

Great. Just what I need. More reminders that everything’s weird and broken. Nine days of nothing between us, and here’s Fork Guy, trying to bedazzle the silence.

I want to text Jaxon so bad. I hate not knowing how baseball’s going (even though I check every score), but with him it’s worse.

My phone feels heavy in my pocket. I haven’t reached out since that day, and he hasn’t either.

“So about that pitch—” Fork Guy starts, and then he must see something in my face, because he stops. “Oh. Oh no. Are you and Baseball Boy still doing the emotional utensil avoidance dance?”

I stare at my cup. “We’re not doing any kind of dance,” I mutter. “We’re not doing anything.”

“Ah.” He nods, sipping his infinite latte. “The classic ‘we hooked up until feelings got real and now we pretend not to see each other’ situation. Been there. Well, not exactly. My thing with Rebecca was more ‘she got a restraining order, and now I walk the long way to Spanish class.’”

“Oh.” I shouldn’t laugh, but I do. “How’s that going?”

“Restraining order got lifted!” He beams. “Turns out if you wait long enough and promise not to climb fire escapes, they let you back on the north side. Speaking of—” He ducks behind me, spilling latte everywhere. “Ah, my bad.” He wipes coffee off my shirt, but makes it worse. “Is that Rebecca? No, wait. False alarm. Just someone else with excellent conjugation posture.”

Forgetting the coffee on me, I pull out my phone before I can stop myself—this is exactly the kind of thing I’d have texted Jaxon about. My thumbs hover, but I can’t.

“Don’t do it,” Fork Guy warns, somehow reading my mind. “Nothing good comes from telling someone their friend spilled chakra coffee on you while hiding from his ex.”

“I wasn’t going to?—”

“Please.” He scoffs. “You had that look I get before doing something Emerald warned me not to do. Like that time I tried juggling her healing stones and summoned what she claims was a demon, but I’m pretty sure was her cat.”

He’s right. God help me, Fork Guy is right.

I put my phone away.

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