Page 47 of Tagging Bases

But hey, who am I to judge? If it works for them, more power to them. I’m just glad Chet’s not causing too much trouble at the store. The last thing Roy needs is the kid knocking over more displays and mixing up the screwdrivers and wrenches again.

“At least that’s one less headache for you to deal with,” I say, trying to see the glass half-full for Roy’s sake.

He nods, but there’s something else going on behind those dark eyes of his. I just don’t know what.

“Is Mabel still calling out?”

He nods again. “Every other day. I’m considering hiring another cashier, so I don’t have to do it myself.”

Mabel is an elderly woman who’s been working at the store since the Reagan administration. She’s sweet, but I think the idea of working a nine-to-five isn’t as appealing to her as it once was. Can’t say I blame her. If I were her age and still had to go to work, I’d cry myself to death.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact you work in retail when you hate people,” I tell Roy.

He shrugs. “Someone’s got to pay your tuition if baseball doesn’t pan out.”

“Ouch!” I clutch my heart.

We both break out into laughter because we know he’s onlyhalf-joking. This whole college thing is kind of a big deal for us McManuses.McManusi?I’m the first one in the family to attend.

“How’s Daniel?” Roy asks, shocking me.

“Uh, good!” I blink rapidly as my brain tries to figure out why Roy is suddenly taking an interest in my best friend. “Busy. You know him.”

“Tell him hi for me.”

My eyebrows disappear into my hairline. “Seriously?”

Roy scowls through the screen. I bite my tongue to keep from telling him that his face will get stuck that way. If I said that, he’d no doubt reach through the phone and rip my balls off. “Yes, seriously. He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

“He is. I just…”

“Just what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”It’s better not to rock the boat.“He’s at a family event, so I’m going to the Kappa Sig party alone.”

“A party?” He raises an eyebrow as he takes in my outfit from what little he can see on his phone screen. “You don’t look like you’re about to go to a party.”

I glance at my T-shirt and jeans. “Casual is in, okay? So is the ‘just rolled out of bed’ look.”

“That explains a lot,” he says flatly. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“So, everything then?” I quip, grinning impishly.

In high school and even into his early twenties, Roy was the king of getting wasted and raising hell. I remember countless nights lying awake in my bed, waiting to hear the telltale creak of the front door opening as he snuck back into the house, drunk or high off his ass. Sometimes he’d even have a friend in tow—always a guy, never a girl, now that I think about it. They’d stumble and shush each other before collapsing into a heap of drunken giggles on his bedroom floor.

I think that’s part of why I’ve embraced the party scene so much since starting college. Some subconscious desire to be like my big brother, the ultimate rebel without a cause. To chase thatsame thrill and freedom he always found at the bottom of a bottle or in the smoke swirling from a joint.

To feel alive and invincible, if only for a night.

And I did—with Daniel and Harrison, and that was a whole different kind of high. Raw and electrifying and terrifying in its newness. Something I never expected but couldn’t seem to quit, even if I wanted to.

“Charlie?” Roy’s voice pulls me out of my reverie.

“Yeah?”

His expression softens a touch. “I’m proud of you, kid. You know that, right?”

My eyes instantly fill with tears. “I know. Thanks, Roy.”

---