Page 10 of The Perfect Play

There was a quick pause, and he said, “Well, at least you didn’t lose. I’d hate to have a son who can’t win in a fight.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t until my father said those words that I realized how much appearances really mattered to him.

“I’ve already gotten a call from the owner of the diner, and they want the window fixed.”

“Are you going to pay for it?” I asked, ready to be done with this conversation.

“No,” he said, his voice gruffer than at the beginning of the call. “You’re going to do that. You’ll work off the cost of the window at the diner. Lou knows you play baseball, so he’ll make sure to schedule you around practices and games. But I told him you’d be working for free until the end of the school year.”

“For free?” I stood and slammed a fist into my pillow. At least it was softer than Nate’s nose.

A mocking laugh sounded through the line. “Yes, for free. Just because I work hard to give you everything you have doesn’t mean you’re going to squirm out of anything else, young man. I got you off scot-free from the accident, even had your Jeep fixed up when the insurance wouldn’t pay the full amount. But it seems you need to learn a few things about life.” He paused a moment, and I fell back on the bed, knowing this was going to be the longest few months of my life.

“Jake? I’ve got to go. Tell your mom I’ll be home next week. I’ve got to meet some clients for drinks. I better have no more phone calls about your behavior, you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I choked out through the anger brimming in my throat. I hung up the phone and was ready to chuck it across the room when I remembered it was my mother’s. I took it back downstairs, finding her in the kitchen. “Here’s your phone, Mom.”

She turned around, stirring a cup of tea, the dark circles under eyes looking more prominent than they had in a while. “What did he say about the window?”

“I guess the owner already called him. Dad made a deal so I have to work at the diner for free until the end of the school year to pay it off.” I spat out the last few words, feeling the injustice of it all.

“Maybe this will be good for you. Because it doesn’t seem like you learned your lesson from Troy’s death.” She raised her eyebrows as she took a sip from the cup, her words slicing through me. I’d learned plenty from the accident, and with the nightmares that recurred several times a week, I wasn’t sure I’d ever forget. “You might want to call your coach and tell him what happened. I’m sure if you wait until practice tomorrow, he won’t be too happy to find out then, if he hasn’t already.”

I scrubbed my hands over my face. “That’s just the conversation I want to have right now. ‘Hey, Coach, I kind of pushed Nate through a window.’”

“Would you rather still play baseball or be suspended? Doesn’t he have a no-violence policy?”

I nodded. Coach also had a no-alcohol policy he’d put into place ever since his star third baseman died driving home from a party. Even with a phone call, I might not be playing baseball this year. And that, most of all, crushed me.

When the police had gotten word to me that Nate just needed about thirty stitches and several butterfly bandages, I don’t think I could describe the relief. At least he hadn’t lost his sight or anything. After that worry had worn off, I’d moved on to baseball. My teammates would be furious, but my coach would be irate.

“I’ll go call him right now. Then I’m heading to bed.”

“Good night, dear. Make sure you stay quiet. Your sisters are already in bed.”

I trudged up the stairs and past my twin sisters’ room, hearing them giggling about something. Probably boys.

Turning my phone on, I lay on my bed and wrapped an arm under my head, holding it up a bit. My text message sound went off several times, most of them from numbers not saved in my phone. I clicked on the phone icon and found my coach’s number. It rang a few times, and I hoped it would go straight to voicemail. My heart skipped a beat when I thought he picked up the phone, but luck was on my side.

After the beep, I said, “Hey, Coach, this is Jake. There was a little mishap today at Lou’s Diner. Nate and I were joking around, and I pushed him harder than I thought, right through the front window. He’ll be okay, and I’ve never felt worse. Just, uh, call me tomorrow.”

I clicked end and chucked the phone onto my desk. Falling back on my bed, I closed my eyes, wishing for this day to end. But as usual, the demons of my past came out in full force. It was going to be another long night.

Chapter 9

Penny

Iwiped the sweat from my forehead and stood on the line once again, getting ready to run the next sprint. Coach Ambrose had led a decent second day of tryouts, but it had quickly turned into practice with the twenty-two remaining girls. Just like most of the coaches I’d had before, we were ending with conditioning, and combined with the Texas heat even at the end of January, my legs and chest were feeling the intensity of it.

We were set up in lines of two, paired with someone who was about the same speed we were so we “could push each other to the finish,” as Coach explained. Starting from the foul pole on the first base side, we ran the warning track to get to the pole on the third-base side. I was paired with Lacey Montgomery, one of the sophomores this year, and for a minute I was sure I was going to lose, until a burst of energy surged through me and I crossed the line two steps ahead.

“Nice run,” Lacey said, hands on hips as we walked back and forth, waiting for the rest of the pairs to go.

“Thanks,” I said, breathing hard. “I needed the push from you.” There were times when I thought I should just quit the high school team and make sure to keep my grades up because I’d get a scholarship from my travel team anyway. The competition wasn’t nearly as tough as my other team, but with the amount of work we’d already put in on day two, it seemed Coach Ambrose had dreams of taking a state title.

We ran and ran until several girls threw up on the side. My stomach didn’t often get rattled, and even I was feeling the effects of the sprints.

“Okay, we’re done for today,” Coach Ambrose said, to a host of exhausted cheers. “Bring it in for a cheer.”

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