Page 30 of The Perfect Steal

“And?” he asked once I’d opened my eyes.

“Not bad,” I said. “Okay, it was really good.”

He slapped the table with excitement. “I knew you’d like it. Sometimes you just have to try different things.”

“Something you can learn too,” Colt said, chucking the balled-up paper from the straw at him.

Nate frowned at Colt and then glanced in my direction, almost as if he were waiting for me to say something.

“We should probably get back,” I said, standing and tucking my chair under the table. Scrapes of chairs on the tile floor sounded as the others got up and dumped their trays.

As we got into the cars, part of me wished I’d jumped in with Nate and Colt. But this was better. Separation would keep me on track with my goal to stay away from guys and finish school as soon as possible. Reaching my dreams would only happen if I kept my eye on the prize.

But right now, I wanted to spend more time with Nate.

17

Nate

I’d managed to survive the festivities of my father’s reelection win, mostly thanks to texting back and forth with Brynn. We’d talked about a little of everything, sharing memes and pictures, as well as several jokes. Paying for her lunch wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, but she was grateful, and that’s all that counted.

After two full evenings of play on Thursday and Friday, we got through our first baseball game on Saturday, barely winning. Game two was against one of the worst teams in the fall league, but they’d somehow managed to make it this far in the end-of-season tournament. We killed them enough that the kids who didn’t play as often got the chance.

John had taken my place during a slow inning and did a pretty good job, fielding the ball and throwing the runner out at home.

When he ran in, I slapped him on the back and said, “John, that was awesome! Nice throw, kid!”

He beamed back up at me and looked like I’d made his day.

We had a nice long break, waiting for the other games to be played before the championship game, and after grabbing a sandwich for a late lunch, I settled under a tree for a nap. Of course, that only lasted a few minutes until the rest of the team got there, ready to warm up for the final game of the night.

It wasn’t until the first batter got up and I was in center field that I noticed Brynn sitting alone in the stands.

Had she come to watch me and John? Or just John?

The thought made me smile wider than I should’ve. In between pitches, I scanned the crowd again and saw my father sitting in the middle of the stands right behind home plate. But he wasn’t watching what was happening. His head was stuck in his phone, probably reading the dozens of emails he got per day or getting ready to call someone. I’d barely seen him since Tuesday night because of the influx of things he needed to do since he was once again mayor.

Sometimes I wondered why he even bothered to show up if he wasn’t going to pay attention.

Three up, three down thanks to Ben’s pitches.

Coach came up to the dugout, looking out over the rest of us, and said, “Miller, you’re in for Kazinski.”

John went wide-eyed, and I chuckled. The more I studied him, the more his features looked like Brynn. He was probably the reason she was at the game.

Kazinski usually played left field, but from the smell of things, he’d thrown up in the garbage can. Most of the team stayed on the other end of the dugout until Jake walked over and took the garbage can outside, giving us all some fresh air.

“That was gross,” he said, waving the air in front of his nose.

The opponents held us to a couple of hits but no runs, and we were out on the field again.

“You ready for this, John?” I called from my spot in center field.

He nodded, and I watched as he gulped.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember you threw a kid out at home during the last game, and you’re only a freshman.” I grinned as I saw the confidence in him grow. He turned toward home plate, punching his hand into the palm of his glove and shifting back and forth. I had to refrain from laughing because he looked like a copy of myself.

I stood in the outfield, ready for Ben to throw the next pitch. He'd been doing well, but the heart of the lineup was coming up, and I knew I'd have to be ready to catch whatever came my way. After seeing what our pitcher had thrown at them already for the first three times through the batting order, the fourth was usually when things got busy for me as the center fielder.

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