Page 22 of Pitching for Keeps
"Smooth," he laughs as he stabilizes us both.
"You can't just say things like that while Fogerty is playing!"
"Would you prefer I wait until 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame'?"
"I prefer you don't make me cry at my sister's wedding."
"Happy tears?"
"The happiest," I admit.
"Excuse me!" Megan's voice cuts through the music. "I need to steal my sister. Urgent maid of honor duties!"
"We're dancing," I protest as she literally pulls me away.
"Jay has to leave soon anyway," she says, dragging me toward the parking lot. "And we need to stop by the house. Mom needs the, um, wedding thing. From my old room."
"What wedding thing? And why are we going to your parents' house?"
"The important thing. Just... trust me. Get in the car."
I glance back at Jay, who's watching us with amused confusion. "Five minutes!" I call.
"I'll be timing you!" he calls back.
Megan practically shoves me into her car and speeds toward our parents' house, which is thankfully only five minutes away. "What is so urgent that?—"
"I may have been looking for my old yearbook," she says in a rush. "In your room. And I may have found something interesting in your closet."
My blood runs cold. "Megan. You didn't."
"I did!" She pulls into the driveway. "Tracy, we need to talk about what's in that box."
I follow her into the house and up to my childhood bedroom, my heart racing. There, spread across my old twin bed like evidence in a crime scene, is five years of carefully preserved Jay Talley memorabilia.
"This is an invasion of privacy!"
"This is three hundred pages of pitch analysis!" She holds up the spiral notebook. "Tracy, you charted his mechanics!"
"He was working on a new changeup grip!"
"For his entire junior season?"
"It's front and back!"
"And the ticket stubs?" She waves the manila envelope. "Every. Single. Game. For three years!"
"I'm sentimental!"
"And the photos?" She holds up a stack. "You at batting practice. Jay signing your glove. You two covered in champagne after the conference championship?—"
"Those are the best memories!"
"And this?" She pulls out a Ziplock bag. "Is this grass from the field?"
"That's from his no-hitter junior year," I mumble.
"You are so far gone it's not even funny." She suddenly gasps. "Wow, this is why you knew his stats. You've been following his career this whole time!"
