Stealing Parker

I retrieve my cotton ball and get back to work on my thumbnail, listening to Drew talk about the op-ed he’s submitting to the Franklin Times. Then an email alert pops up at the bottom of my screen. Brian Hoffman has accepted your friend request.

I kick my feet up and down on the mattress and squeal for like, ten seconds straight. Ryan pounds on the wall with his fist and tells me to control my estrogen.

Drew blurts, “What’s going on? Tell me!”

“Let me call you back,” I say, disconnecting. I immediately click on Brian’s profile and scan his wall. He posts lots of status updates regarding baseball scores and sports news—especially about the Braves and Georgia Tech. He also links to articles about healthy living, and it looks like he’s planning to run the Nashville half-marathon in April and is raising money in support of the American Heart Association.

I check his relationship status: Single.

I squeal again, and Ryan pounds on the wall again. I fluff my pillows behind me and get comfy. I garner the courage to send him an instant message over Facebook. I have something to talk to him about, so why not?

Hey, I type.

Brian Hoffman: Hey.

Parker Shelton: Can I be manager again?

Brian Hoffman: So you’re quitting already?

Parker Shelton: You behave or I’m leaving!

Brian Hoffman: Where’d you go? LOL. Come back.

Parker Shelton: You have to behave.

Brian Hoffman: Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you.

The cursor blinks for a few seconds.

Brian Hoffman: Are you going to tell me what happened?

Parker Shelton: Nope.

Brian Hoffman: Why’d you quit the team last year?

As comfortable as I feel with him, I can’t tell him about Mom. Considering his parents go to Forrest Sanctuary, who knows how Brian feels about homosexuality. I’m not ready to take the risk to find out yet. I’m enjoying this too much. Maybe one day, if I trust Brian enough, I’ll tell him everything.

Really, that’s what it all comes down to.

Parker Shelton: I don’t trust the team

Brian Hoffman: Wow.

I pick at my nail polish. Then I type.

Parker Shelton: What’s the point in playing for a team you can’t trust? Isn’t that the whole point of a team? To be part of something? I mean, last night when we went to the batting cages, I felt like I belonged there.

Brian Hoffman: With me?

I want to type Exactly, but I don’t.

Parker Shelton: Can I be a manager again? I like being around Drew.

(And you, Brian Hoffman. But I don’t type that.)

Brian Hoffman: I can’t say I’m that disappointed you’re not playing.

Yeah? I reply, and kick my feet up and down silently.

Brian Hoffman: Yeah, I need a good manager.

Parker Shelton: Oh, is that it?

Brian Hoffman: Good managers are hard to find. Filling coolers with ice is serious business.

Parker Shelton: Jerk.

Brian Hoffman: :) I wish you’d play, because you’ve got talent. But—

Parker Shelton: But?

Brian Hoffman: I’m glad you’ll be around. I like talking to you. You’re hilarious.

One thing’s for sure: I get to spend a whole hell of a lot more time with Brian, and I can’t wait.

The rest of the week is sucky and wonderful.

Sucky because, during lunch, I had to listen to Laura and Allie going on and on about how I’m nothing but a quitter.

Sucky because I never talk to Brian one-on-one in person. During gym, he stands with Coach Burns while the boys play basketball or volleyball, and I usually run past him when we girls are doing laps. I wear the shortest shorts I own and try to look as sexy as possible, even when doing sit-ups. He barely looks my way! But then at night, we message on Facebook. That’s the wonderful part.

He has a dog, a black lab named Brandy. They go running together every morning before work. His favorite vacation spot is Destin, Florida—he loves the white sand beaches. After surviving an outbreak in fourth grade, lice scare him to death, and that’s why he’d never consider teaching at an elementary school. His arch nemesis at school is Ms. Bonner, the home ec teacher, because she’s always nagging him about his wrinkled shirts and slacks.

I told Brian she wants to iron his clothes as a prelude to a scandalous affair. He told me I have wicked, disgusting thoughts.

He knows I adore animals but that my biggest fear is granddaddy long-legs because once when I was little girl, a spider crawled into my glass of water in the middle of the night and I almost drank him. Brian knows I don’t eat much—he’s been scoping me out in the cafeteria, and he got on to me. He knows my favorite drink is the ninety-nine-cent fat-free latte from that janky machine down at the Highway 41 Exxon station. He knows I want to meet Brandy the black lab. Brian has black hair, so I asked if he and Brandy look alike, since dogs and owners are supposed to resemble each other. That made him LOL. I could see his smile over the Internet.

I keep painting my nails Passion Peach.

the first baseball game

44 days until i turn 18

On Saturday, the team meets in the parking lot to drive to Tullahoma for the first official game of the season. Drew and Sam are sipping water and gargling “Bad Romance.” When they finish the song, Drew spits his water out on the pavement and says, “Any requests?”

Jackson Powers says, “Do ‘Like a G6.’”

Drew laughs. “I can’t rap! I’m a white hick last time I checked.”

“Which explains why you do Lady Gaga so well?” I tease.

Drew hugs me from behind and musses my hair.

Corndog parks his truck in the lot and heads over, carrying his bat bag. His hair is all disheveled like he just rolled out of bed. It’s kinda yummy looking. But not as yummy looking as Brian’s—his is still wet. Like he got out of the shower and came straight here.

Corndog joins Drew, Sam, and me. “Glad you made it on time, Parker.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I retort.

“Figured you were out late hooking up with somebody. Isn’t that what you do on Fridays?”

I suck in a deep breath. Asshole.

“Come on, man,” Drew says to him. “It’s not her fault.”

What’s not my fault?

Corndog runs a hand through his hair. He has bags under his eyes. “Sorry…I had a rough night. Didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Whatever,” I reply, bowing my head and moving a few steps away. I thought he and I were getting past this whole feud. Guess not. Guess I can’t completely abandon my rep.

Brian appears beside me. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been picking at my pinky nail all morning.” I show him how I peeled some of the paint off.

“Aw, poor baby. Get on the bus.” He grins mischievously, patting my back with his clipboard.

Okay, so riding on the boys’ bus is like going to another planet. The moment I get onboard, the stench of dirty feet, sweat, and farting hits me in the face. On top of that, someone shoots a jockstrap like a rubber band and it nearly hits me in the face. I duck just in time.

“Knock it off, you assholes,” Corndog says, flopping down in back with Drew and Sam. That’s where the softball captain sits too.

“The only jockstrap Parker wants belongs to me,” Paul says.

A smattering of laughter breaks out, and I blush, clutching the strap of my bag.

“Shut it, Paul,” Corndog says, giving him a dirty look. “Take a seat,” he tells me.

“I don’t know where to sit,” I reply. “Seniority and all.”

“You’d better stay up front.”

“Fine with me,” I mutter when I realize I’ll be right across the aisle from Brian, who’s already immersed in the lineup, murmuring to himself. It’s like he’s having a love affair with his clipboard. Before we leave, he shuts his eyes for a long moment, then stands to face the team.

“Where’s Coach Burns?” Corndog calls out.

“Corndog’s got a hard-on for Coach!” someone yells. “Hot!”

“Stop being morons,” Brian says, “And shut up and listen to me for a sec, okay?”

The guys actually do shut up. It’s cool he’s got their respect.

“Coach Lynn was sent to the hospital yesterday due to pregnancy complications,” Brian says, and I gasp. I bite my tongue.

“And?” Corndog asks. “Is she okay? Is the baby okay?”

I peek around the edge of my seat to see him standing up at the back of the bus. He looks worried.

“I think she and the baby are fine,” Brian says. “But the doctor says she has to go on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. So Dr. Salter asked me to take over the baseball team while Coach Burns coaches softball this season. He has more experience with softball than I do.” Brian swallows hard.

Oh. My. God. That means no supervision. Coach Burns won’t be around to yell at Brian and me to stop chatting. I can’t help but grin, even though I’m worried for Coach Lynn. She’s a nice lady.

Brian’s eyes shift to mine, then he goes back to talking to the team. “I know y’all love Coach Burns, but I hope I can fill his shoes, at least somewhat.”

“I want to have your babies, Coach Hoffman!” Sam calls, cracking up the guys. Sam says that to pretty much everybody these days, so if he was being truthful, he’d have like eleven billion kids by now.

“Sit down, Henry,” Brian says, and looks at the ceiling, as if praying for help. He turns to the bus driver. “Can we go already?”

The ignition cranks to a start, and then we’re hurtling down the highway toward Tullahoma, passing farms and rolling hills. It’s a beautiful, sunny February day. Too bad Corndog ruined the sun by being a jerk. I pull the new Cosmo out of my bag and start learning about these sit-ups that guarantee a six-pack in less than a month. I have a romance novel about cowboys in my bag that I’m dying to break out, but I don’t want anyone to see it and make fun of me. It’s called The Lonesome Hero, and the cover features a naked guy, a semi-naked girl, and a strategically placed horse trough.

Instead, I drown myself in an article about what kinds of bras are best for my body type until Corndog flops down next to me. He slouches and gazes over at me with tired eyes.

He blocks my view of Brian.

“What?” I mumble, shifting in my seat.

“I’m sorry about before. I’m stressed.”

“Even if you’re stressed, you can’t be mean.”

“Yeah, well, people don’t expect a lot from you like they do me,” he mutters, shutting his eyes.

“You don’t know anything about me,” I whisper. Stupid, stupid me, to let him take me home the other night. Stupid, stupid me to think I might be making a new friend. “Go away. Please.”

“I came to apologize. I’m trying here.”

“Maybe you should practice more.”

He holds my gaze for a few seconds, his blue eyes piercing into me, and then he stands and disappears to the back of the bus.

I slide down in my seat, trying to control my breathing. I rip a page out of Cosmo and write: