Page 5 of Tastes Like Watermelon Moonshine
I couldn’t push my thoughts from Raegan any longer. I can still remember the first time I saw her. I had been determined not to be distracted by a girl, baseball was going to be my focus. And with the move to Clear Creek… When I first arrived, I was determined to be a grump, focus on school and baseball. “You changed me, Rae of Sunshine.” I couldn't stay grumpy with her in my life. And since I let her in… I let others in as well.
What if… I’d stayed grumpy and closed off? “Maybe I should’ve just ignored everyone. Then this wouldn’t hurt.” Reaching over, I turn off the bedside lamp. I’ll never know. The past can’t be changed.
Chapter 3
Austin - The Past
Hotairbuildsupin the cab of my truck as I sit facing Clear Creek High School. “It’s your fault, Dad. I’d be closer than ever to professional baseball. We could’ve had a normal summer, taken our usual vacation… But, no. You couldn’t do things like a normal dad,” I mutter under my breath as I gather up the courage to leave my truck and head into school.
I’m so tempted to smash my fist against the steering wheel. But I need both hands for playing baseball, and this truck is my girl. I would never hurt her. But is baseball even a possibility now? How will a scout even find me out here in the boonies? Sure, we could make it to the state championship, but that doesn’t guarantee that a scout will be out looking for me, and it requires a really good team. Unless a scout already spotted me in Atlanta and is following my journey. That’s my only hope at this point.
It was Mom and Dad, George and Kimberly, and two kids; me and Izzy—who recently turned ten—against the world. Well, until Dad decided to leave all of us.
I still hate him. I hate what he did to us. He knew baseball was important to me. He’s the one that started my love of baseball. Started me on the path to wanting to go pro. “I’d probably be talking to a scout right now,Dad.”
I poke a finger into the edge of the steering wheel.Family and stability were important to Mom, but he still had an affair and left. Mom didn’t want to stay in Atlanta, which I get. But this isn’t home. Not for me. “Why did we have to move here? Couldn’t we have just moved to a different area in Atlanta? Why, Mom? Why this cabbage-patch of a town?”I don’t have the guts to say those things to her, but some days I want to ask her all those questions.
Silently, I slip from my truck. She’s a 1980 Chevrolet K10. “Love you, girl.” I pat the dash. She doesn’t fit in here. She’s classy, and this place… isn’t. The high school screamsput me out of my misery.
A giant crack in the sidewalk greets me as I head toward the lopsided steps flanked by rusty railings. If you get the right angle on the sidewalk crack and the building’s hideous façade, it almost looks like an angry face. Someone has clearly attempted to clean it up, it’s got new paint on the doors, but it’s so different compared to the recently constructed modern building of my high school in Atlanta. Dad’s high level job allowed me to attend a private school with an amazing baseball program. I had baseball all year round, with training, camp, and travel teams. Now, I’ll only have the regular season.
I can’t help but compare myself to the other students who I’ve been watching walk through the doors. I don’t fit in. I don’t belong. I’m wearing these cowboy boots for Mom, and the jeans too. Not that I don’t usually wear jeans, but I’m more of a shortsor joggers guy. I’m not a cowboy, never will be. I’m a baseball player. I drew the line at wearing a cowboy hat. I’m sticking with my Atlanta Warriors ball cap.
My boots pinch my toes, they’re nothing like my favorite pair of cleats. But they’d brought a smile to Mom’s face. And after everything she’s gone through… I’m glad she’s happy. This belt she picked out though… I’m not wearing it again. I adjust it, wishing I could just take it off. But I need a belt, I’m not starting my first day of senior year with my pants falling off.
Hesitantly, I reach for the worn handle on the door. Squeezing and pulling, I open one of the double green doors. I’m welcomed by the smell of old building, body odor, and floor cleaner. That’s about the only similarity here, the smell. The noise of students greeting each other isn’t as loud as my school back in Atlanta. Everyone is a stranger. I don’t know a single soul here. I have a neighbor who I think is close to my age, and I know her dad is a pastor, but I haven’t said a word to her.
“Hey, man!” I jump, startled by the booming voice coming from a guy who sneaked up behind me. “Haven’t seen you before. You the guy that moved in a few doors down from Clear Creek Baptist?”
I guess in a small town everyone knows each other’s business? “cabbage-patch town,” I mutter under my breath. No one would know where you’d just moved to in Atlanta, unless they were stalking you. Creepy.
“That would be me,” I finally say after studying the guy for a few seconds. He’s built like me, and we’ve even got similar dark hair. But he’s got a smile on his face, showing off his even white teeth. I’m not smiling. I haven’t in a few days. Maybe even a few weeks.
“I’m Carson,” he says, clapping me on the back. He’d make a good pitcher with the strength of that arm. “Welcome to Clear Creek. What do you think of the place so far?”
Could the guy not take a hint? I pull my eyes from the gray tile floor and make eye contact. “Well, it’s a cabb-” I clear my throat and continue, “a lot smaller than Atlanta.”
“Don’t let the smallness of Clear Creek fool you. We can get crazy when needed,” Carson says with a laugh. Maybe he’s the guy in charge of all the wild high school parties. I’ve never been to one, didn’t have the time for it with baseball. “What year are you?” He looks me up and down, cocking one eyebrow and sayinghmmmlike he’s an old man. “Senior, like me?”
Apparently he isn’t going to leave me alone. I might as well give him what he wants. “Yep, it’s my senior year.”
“You got your own truck?” Carson asks.What?See, this is a cabbage-patch town! What kind of lead in is that, asking whether I have a truck or not. Stalking much?
But, trucks are a safe topic, one I’m willing to talk about. Of course, the other topic I’m willing to discuss is baseball. I shove my hands into my pants pockets. “My dad bought me an old Chevrolet K10 when I turned sixteen.”
“A lot of us like to hang out at the Rolling R. It’s not too far out of town. Join us sometime.” Carson punches my upper arm. He really should be a pitcher. “All of us cool kids have trucks. You’ll fit right in, man.”
If the other guys are into trucks maybe it won’t be too bad. Hopefully enough of them are into baseball too. I don’t know if any will have the same drive and ambition as I do when it comes to baseball, but I have to at least try. I’ll finish out the year, then I’ll leave town, hopefully by getting drafted. If I’m not drafted, I’ll go to Georgia Tech, work on a degree, and get drafted later on.
I check the walls, looking for baseball championship banners, or even a display case. Something to show me that they have a decent team here. “Sounds fun. Are you on any of thesports teams?” I turn back to Carson, at least I think that's the name he gave me.
“Well, I’ve done some football, and dabbled in baseball, but I’m not a star or anything,” Carson says with a laugh. “For a lot of us guys, ranching gets in the way. We like to take jobs and make a few extra bucks. Helps when we want to take a girl out on the town.”
Inwardly, I scoff.Out on the town.There’s no town here. It’s a cabbage-patch! But a job on a ranch to make a few extra bucks? I’ve never considered working on a ranch.
“How much do you usually make working on a ranch?” I ask as I push a stray curl off my forehead. I flip my hat around so it’s on backwards.
“Most places just pay minimum wage, but it’s better than nothing. A few of the guys work at diners, the movie theater, or you can always get a job in the grocery store.”
