Page 7 of Tastes Like Watermelon Moonshine
I don’t believe in love at first sight, but attraction at first sight? That’s for sure.
Chapter 4
Austin - The Past
Thenicethingaboutthis school is that it’s so small, you can’t really get lost in it. After my final class of the day lets out, I head back to the gym and look for the coach’s office. He’s apparently the head of every male sport at this school. I find the hall and head toward the door withSports Staffhanging over the door.
Knocking on the doorframe I peek into the small office, if it could be called that. It seems more like a closet. A few filing cabinets stand against the back wall. A floor lamp sits next to them, making the small room feel cozy.
The coach sits in a creaky office chair behind an old green metal desk. “Young man. Come on in. I’m Coach Hernandez, but you can just call me Coach.” He stands and leans over the desk, offering me a hand to shake. It’s a firm shake, especially for his age. His black hair is sprinkled with white, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkle, giving him an old, but happy look.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I rock back on my heels. “I’m Austin Thomas. My mom spoke to you on the phone before we moved here. Asked about your baseball program.”
He nods his head. “Yes, yes. I remember. You’ll just have to remind me what position that you play.”
“I’m a second baseman. But I’m willing to try other positions if you already have someone on second.” Okay, that might be a bit of a lie. I want to stick to second base. But I’ll do just about anything to play in this cabbage-patch town.
Coach strokes his little white goatee. “I’ve got a second baseman position open. Tryouts next week, and the practice schedule will come out in February. If you’re into football as well, I’ve got room there also.”
“Baseball is super important to me. Will it be okay if I use the field and equipment to practice during the off season?”
“Absolutely.” He claps his hands. “Anytime you want me to pitch, or help you out, I’m glad to step in.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I’ve worked with coaches who only cared about the wins. “Do you have a weight room or anything where the players can work out?”
Coach chuckles. “You’d think with our size that we wouldn’t have one, but we actually do. It’s nothing pretty, but it gets the job done. Let me show you where it is.”
He shows me the modest weight room. It doesn’t have much, but it’ll do the job.
I head back out to my truck, sitting in the blast of the air conditioning. The climate is similar to Atlanta, but it feels hotter—maybe that’s my attitude. Letting the radio play for a while, I sit and think over the school day. It’s just so different from school in Atlanta. Less busy. Quieter. Thinking about Atlanta brings Dad and my old baseball team to mind.
It sucks. It really sucks.
I lay my head on the steering wheel. “Why!?” Everything was set in Atlanta. I would graduate with guys I’d known my whole life. Play with my team. But, no, Dad had to screw over our family. And it’s not like my parents fought. Sure, they had times when they disagreed, but there was never any yelling or anything. Mom was a good wife, from what I’ve seen. I’ve been to friends’ homes where both parents were constantly losing their crap. Mom’s opinion would differ from Dad’s here and there, but I thought they had a good marriage.
“Why, Dad?” I yell as I slap the steering wheel. “Is divorce just the norm? Maybe most marriages and relationships aren’t meant to last?” Not that I’ve got any experience. I’ve never dated. Not that there weren’t girls that were interested. I’ve just never been interested in anyone, not in Atlanta. Baseball always came first.
A tap on the window startles me, and I bring my head up sharply. Coach stands there peering in at me, a concerned look on his face. I probably do look a little weird, or maybe he heard me yelling. I hope he doesn’t think I’m doing drugs or something.
I crank the handle and roll down the window. It shudders and creaks under my efforts.
“Hey, Coach.” I do my best to keep my voice even, hoping that the anger and frustration I’ve been feeling don’t show.
“You doing alright there, Austin?”
I nod my head and clear my throat. “Yeah. Yeah.” I pause. “Peachy.” I finish out, shrugging. “Just doing some thinking.” I’m not going to volunteer any information. Hopefully he thinks it’s just about this ridiculous move halfway across the country.
He lifts a wrist to glance at his watch. “I’ve got some time, and I’m a good listener. You like coffee?” Coach leans in a little closer. He’s probably looking for any drug paraphernalia or sniffing for weed.
I twist up my lips and shrug my shoulders. “Um, yeah, I like a good coffee.” But just because a nice old coach offers me coffee doesn’t mean I’m going to give him my life story.
Coach thumps the trim around the car door with his hand. “Meet me at the Clear Creek Café on Main Street in fifteen.”
The roads are so wide here. It amazes me that I don’t have to parallel park, the parking spots are diagonal to the road and I just pull right in.
I rub my palms on my pants before exiting my truck. Standing on the sidewalk, I take in the tiny town. Mom’s house is on a side street right off this main thoroughfare. Seeing all the buildings now… It’s not a cabbage-patch town. There’s plenty here. Multiple businesses, trees along the sidewalk, and people walking happily and chatting with each other.
I stare at the café. What am I even doing? I don’t want any sort of relationship with this town. Not dating. Not friends. I’m going to finish high school, get drafted or go to college, and leave this cabbage-patch, er, dusty Texas town.
