“Then what’s wrong?”
Everything. Mom and Dad fighting. Mark’s absence. Me and pro ball. My friends/not-friends relationship with Gwen. For a moment, I think about telling her about Mark. Like the rest of the town, she remains blissfully unaware. I stare into her eyes and search for the girl I first met my freshman year. She wouldn’t have messed with me then.
Unfortunately, I’ve since become her favorite pastime. “I’m not in the mood to be played, Gwen. ”
Gwen raises her hand and twirls her hair around her finger. The glint of a large red-stoned ring strikes me like an ice pick. I shift so that our thighs no longer touch. “Mike gave you his class ring. ”
She drops her hand and covers it with the other, as if hiding the ring will make me forget it’s there. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Last night. ”
“Congratulations. ” If I could have let more anger seep out I would have.
“What was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. ” My voice rises with each word. “For starters, not be here screwing with me. ”
She ignores my comment as her own voice hardens. “Mike’s a good guy and he’s always around. He’s not gone all the time and doesn’t have a thousand commitments like you. ”
In all of our breaks and breakups, we never fought. Never raised our voices at each other.
Before, I never considered yelling at Gwen; now it’s the only thing I want to do. “I told you that I loved you. What else could you want?”
“To be first. Baseball always came first with you. God! How much clearer a picture did you need? I broke up with you at the beginning of your seasons. ”
I stand up, unable to sit next to her. How much clearer a picture? Obviously I needed detailed drawings with written directions. “You could have told me that’s how you felt. ”
“Would it have changed anything? Would you have given up baseball?”
I curl my fingers into the metal of the fence and stare out at the field. How could she ask that type of question? Why would any girl ask a guy to give up something he loves?
Gwen’s playing games right now and I’ve decided to throw the pitch that ends the inning.
“No. ”
I hear her sharp intake of air and the guilt of hurting her punches me in the stomach.
“It’s just baseball,” she rushes out.
How can I make her understand? Beyond the fence is a raised mound, a trail of dirt leading to four bases all surrounded by a groomed green field. It’s the only place where I’ve felt like I belonged.
“Baseball isn’t just a game. It’s the smell of popcorn drifting in the air, the sight of bugs buzzing near the stadium lights, the roughness of the dirt beneath your cleats. It’s the anticipation building in your chest as the anthem plays, the adrenaline rush when your bat cracks against the ball, and the surge of blood when the umpire shouts strike after you pitch. It’s a team full of guys backing your every move, a bleacher full of people cheering you on. It’s…life. ”
The clapping of hands to my right causes me to jump out of my skin. In pink hair and a matching swimsuit cover-up, my junior
English teacher and soon-to-be senior English teacher stops the annoying sound and raises her hands to her chin as if in prayer. “That was poetry, Ryan. ”
Gwen and I share a what-the-hell look before returning our stares to Mrs. Rowe.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
She picks her beach bag up off the ground and swings it. “The pool closed for the night. I saw you and Ms. Gardner and decided to remind the two of you that your first personal essay is due to me on Monday. ”
Gwen’s boots stamp on the ground as she switches legs again. A month ago, Mrs. Rowe tried to ruin everyone’s vacation with a summer homework assignment.
“I’m so excited to read them,” she continues.
“I’m assuming you’ve completed yours?”
Haven’t even started. “Yeah. ”