Stealing Third (2 page)

Dinner
is not exactly a birthday celebration.

Mom
and I sit across the table from each other, not speaking. The only noise,
besides the silverware scraping against our plates as we gnaw on the over-done
pork chops, is Mom’s frequent sighs of disappointment. Which I know I deserve,
but lying to get out of camp is a means to an end. And at this point I’ll do
anything to keep my parents together.

Fidgeting
with my lumpy mash potatoes, I drag my fork through the starchy heap while
getting more and more worried that Mom’s anger at me is slowly shifting into
fury at Dad for being late for dinner. Again.

The
garage door opens, and this time I’m the one that sighs. It’s about time. Now
Mom can tell Dad what I did, and they’ll be too mad at me to be mad at each
other. Perfect.

I
brace myself.

“Pam?
Emily?” Dad calls out from the laundry room where his whistle jingles against
the wall as he hangs it up. His bag full of playbooks hits the floor with a
thud. “Anyone home?”

Mom
tosses her fork down before getting up and going to the kitchen island. Despite
not saying a single word in over an hour, the banging of each and every pot
while making Dad’s plate speaks volumes. She’s pissed.

Dad
strolls into the kitchen with a smile on his face, clearly unaware of the mood
in the house. “Oh good, you’re both home. I have the best news.” Dad un-tucks
his polo shirt with the UConn Husky embroidered on the pocket and sits down in
his chair at the head of the table, happy.

For
someone who reads plays for a living, he isn’t doing such a good job reading
the room.

“I
spoke with Jim today, and it looks like I’m gonna have two kids getting called
up to the minors after next season. Isn’t that a hoot?” Dad unfolds his napkin
before tucking it into his shirt. “I mean, it’s not great to lose two great
players for the following season’s prospects, but it could definitely help with
recruiting if the players see potential to move up the ranks and—” Dad stops
abruptly when Mom drops the plate of food—drenched in way too much gravy to be
edible—in front of him with a plop.

Dad
looks up. “Pammy?”

I
smile on the inside at Dad’s nickname for Mom. He uses it so rarely these days.

“You
know what, Bob?” Mom snaps. “If you had been home on time, you would know
your
one and only kid
, who is obviously not as important to you since she’s not
getting called up to the minors, was busy calling up someone herself.”

“What’da
you mean, not important to me?” Dad yanks his napkin off and tosses it down on
the table before pushing his gravy ladled plate away from him. “I resent that,”
he barks. “Now, I can’t come home and be excited about my job, or my players?”
He throws his hands in the air, the way he has a million times before when he’s
had enough of their bickering back and forth. “Is there anything I can do right
these days?”

“I
don’t know, Bob?
Can
you do anything right? Where’s Emily’s cake? In the
car? Or— let me guess—you forgot to pick it up?” Mom plants her hands on her
hips, her jaw set. Clearly she’s had enough, too. “Did you even remember it was
her birthday?”

For
the first time since walking in, Dad looks up and really sees me. With regret
written all over his face, he doesn’t even say anything about my hair. He knows
he’s in the doghouse. He did forget. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

Offering
up a small smile, despite feeling a lump rise in my throat, I shake my head to
let him know it’s okay—things happen.

“See,”
Mom snips. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

Dad
pushes away from the table and stands. “You know what, Pam? I have a lot on my
plate right now trying to devise a plan to get the team to the playoffs next
season, hiring a new batting coach, and working with a slashed budget. So give
me some slack, why don’t you,” Dad fires back. “I’m not perfect, but then
again, you’d never let me think otherwise these days, now would you?”

“Dad,
it’s no big deal,” I say, trying to defuse the tension and figure out a way to
get their focus and anger back on me. “We’ll just get cake tomorrow night, or
the next. Whichever.” I shrug, hoping this will do the trick.

“Don’t
you start with this again, Emily.” Mom narrows her eyes, giving me ‘the look.’

There
we go.

“What’s
going on?” Dad asks Mom, before turning to me and blowing out a deep breath. 
“What’d you do now?” He slumps back into the chair and waits for the play by
play. This isn’t the first time this year he’s come home to find Mom furious at
me for something I pulled earlier in the day.

“Besides
dying her hair to look like a streetwalker?” Mom shoots her arm out and
gestures in my general direction.  I roll my eyes. It’s not
that
bad.
“Your daughter also decided it would be a good idea to call up Camp Champ today
and impersonate me, lying about a family emergency that would keep her from
going this year.”

Dad
runs his hand down his face. “Emily, when is all this going to stop?”

A
pang of guilt pierces my heart. I don’t know. Not as long as it keeps working.

“I’m
sorry, but, Dad, camp is for little kids. And it’s my last summer before
college starts—I want to spend it with my friends,” I say, leaving out the
truth. I don’t think their marriage will survive without me being a distraction
all summer long.

“Maybe
some fresh air—and some new friends—is just what you need to stop this
ridiculous behavior of yours,” Mom says, crossing her arms, no maybes about it.

But
Dad looks torn. Yes.

“I
don’t know, Pam. Maybe we should consider not sending her this year. She’s
right, it
is
her last summer. And just think of the money we’ll save,”
he adds, trying to reason with Mom’s frugal side, as he shoots me a smile like
we’re in this together—even though I’m pretty sure he’s only on my side because
he feels guilty for forgetting my birthday. But whatever. I’ll take it.

Mom
undoes her apron and tosses it on the counter. “I cannot believe you right
now,” she yells. “You want to reward our daughter after she was caught lying?
And what about commitment to your obligations, huh? Or is that little life
lesson only for your players?”

Dad
winces as Mom throws one of his infamous ‘Coach Bob speeches’ about commitment
and obligation to yourself and your teammates back in his face.

“Emily
committed to being a junior counselor this year, and she should have to honor
that commitment.”

“But,
Dad—”

“No,”
he says sternly, cutting me off. “Your mother’s right.”

I
glance at Mom as a faint smile crosses her lips and I take a deep breath. Dad
said the magic words; ‘your mother’s right.’

“You
need a serious attitude adjustment and maybe camp is exactly where you’ll find
it. So, if I were you, young lady, I would get to my room and start packing.”

“But—”
I whine, turning to Mom, knowing exactly what she’ll say.

Come
on, Mom. Don’t let me down.

“You
heard your father.”

Bingo.

…

With
my ear pressed up against the small crack in my bedroom door, I can’t make out
exactly what my parents are saying all the way down the hall, but they’re
definitely not fighting anymore, so I consider it a home run.

Well,
except I’m still stuck going to camp, and that’s one obstacle both my parents’
marriage and my summer plans might not survive.

I
shut the door to my bedroom, before snatching my phone from the bottom of my
purse. Dialing, I slide off the edge of the bed to the floor, right next to the
extra large duffle bag Mom left in my room. Subtle.

“Hey,
you almost ready?” Kat asks when she answers, music blaring in the background.

“Change
of plans. Camp called.”

“Nooooooo.”

“Yes.”

“So,
are you like grounded for life?”

“Worse.
They’re still making me go.”

Kat’s
music quiets. “I’m sorry, Em…but maybe it will be good? I mean, maybe your
parents just need some time alone to work things out,” she says softly, knowing
as well as I do how unlikely that is to happen. “And maybe they aren’t the only
ones who need some alone time,” her tone lightens and I can hear her smile, or
maybe I just know her too well. “I bet some alone time with Todd-the-Bod’s abs
would do you some good, too.” She laughs.

“Yeah,
maybe.” I shrug, feeling defeated. Even Kaitlin’s attempt at cheering me up
with the idea of Todd’s abs can’t lift my spirits.

Maybe
what I need to do is to stop causing problems so they’ll keep fighting against
me and not each other, and finally come to terms that my family is falling
apart. No matter what I do.

Resigned,
I unzip the duffle bag I haven’t used since last summer, and at the very
bottom, tucked deep into the corner, a patch of red catches my eye. I dig down,
the duffle bag swallowing my arm momentarily, before yanking out my bright red
color war tee-shirt from last year. It’s covered, front to back, in the sharpie
marker signatures of all my bunkmates, our team motto in bold black letters
across the back.
Never give up
.

“Em?
You okay?” Kaitlin asks, sounding worried. “You know I was just kidding about
the abs thing, right? I was only trying to make you laugh.”

I
hop up from the floor. An idea forming in my mind. Never give up.

“No…
I mean…yeah. It was funny, and I’m fine, I swear.” I am now. I smile. “Pick me
up in twenty, kay?” I say before hanging up.

I
have no time to waste as I stuff the duffle bag with every tank, tee, and pair
of shorts I own, before tossing my color war tee-shirt on top.

I
won’t give up on my family, or my plan. Just because they send me to camp
doesn’t mean I have to stay there.

I
can already hear them yelling at me. Together.

At
the edge of campus, I round the corner onto my street and stop as I take in the
sea of people crowding my front yard.

The
party.

I
shake my head with a smile, having completely spaced. This is exactly what I
need after the two finals I had today and the talk with Coach.

A
twinge of guilt, the same one I get on the rare occasions I do let loose hits
me in the gut. Tommy. I swallow hard, reminding myself I am not my brother.
Taking a night off from planning and studying and following the rules to have
some fun is not actually going to ruin my future.

“Yo,
Ty,” Pete calls out, leaning against the door jamb, a beer already in his hand.
“It’s about time, dude.”

Weaving
through the crowd while the sound of hip hop blares from the living room
speakers—now sitting on the front porch—I try to avoid the empty cans already
littering the front yard and make my way up the concrete steps. “Yeah, well,
one of us had actual classes to take, and finals to pass…dude,” I snatch the
beer from Pete’s hand, twist the top, and take a swig.

“Yeah,
well, not everyone can be as gifted as me.” Pete laughs, then reaches behind
him and pulls out another beer from his back pocket. Gifted is right.

“You
do know General Studies is the easiest degree you can get, right? I wouldn’t be
calling Mensa anytime soon, bro.”

Pete
clinks his bottle against mine and smiles. “I managed to take three pass/fail
classes and only one class with an actual final this semester. So, who’s the
dummy now, Dr. Ford?”

I
laugh. He has a point.

“Touché.”

Pete
tosses his arm around my neck as we walk into the house and towards the
kitchen. “Dude, save the French for the ladies, because right now, we speak
nothing but All-American.”

“You
mean English, dude. We speak English.”

“Nope.
I mean All-American. As in, the great American pastime, brother!” Pete shouts
as we turn the corner into the kitchen and are assaulted by a steady spray of
beer being tossed, shaken and poured all over us.

Completely
drenched in cold suds I wipe the froth from my eyes to find the entire baseball
team cheering for me and Pete.

“Let
me guess—you talked to Coach?” I ask Pete, who is now pouring his own beer over
his head, laughing.

“Hell,
yes, I talked to Coach, and we’re going to the big leagues, man,” Pete yells,
throwing his hand in the air and giving me a high five.

“More
like the minors but…close enough.” I laugh at the insanity of it all before
lifting my own beer over my head and letting it rain down, temporarily washing
away the stress of what I should do. I deserve at least that since school is
done for the year. I have the entire summer to decide between going to the minors
or continuing to pursue med school.

Tonight,
with my best friend, I’m going to soak in the excited shouts of congratulations
from my teammates, and let loose, the best I know how.

…

Pete’s
shirt is still soaked and sticking to him when I come back down from taking a
shower and changing into clothes that don’t smell like a brewery anymore. “You
showering?”

“What’s
the point, dude? I plan on spilling at least a half-a-dozen more drinks on
myself before the end of the night.”

“Good
goal.” I shake my head, cracking open an import and letting the cool drink
quench my thirst.

“Forget
that…I have a new goal,” Pete says, staring at the front door. “I want that
cute blonde over there spilled all over me tonight.”

I
choke on my sip of beer. Only Pete. And in all probability, he’ll succeed too.

I
glance over his shoulder to check out the unsuspecting co-ed who’s about to be
swooning over our star pitcher and I’m not surprised by the look of her. She’s
totally his type. A leggy blonde.

“Dude,
at least let her get in the door before pouncing.”

“And
let Jacobson snag her? No way,” Pete says before taking off towards the door,
swiping two of my imports from the case on his way.

I
set my bottle down on the edge of the pool table and start to rack the balls
when he returns with the girl and her friend, his arm already slung over the
blonde’s shoulder.

“Ladies,
my friend Tyler. Tyler, the ladies.” Pete picks up a pool stick and hands it to
the girl under his wing. “How about a game of two on two?” Pete winks, and the girl—as
expected—giggles. I swear his stats off the mound are as impressive as his
stats on it.

“I’m
Kaitlin, and this is Emily,” the blonde says, nodding to the girl standing next
to her wearing a short black leather jacket over an even shorter black dress.
Even with a pair of sky-high red heels that perfectly match the dyed tips of
her light brown hair, it’s the tiny silver star jewel just to the right of her
eye, sitting high on her cheek, that catches my attention. I tilt my head,
recognition gnawing at me as I take her in.

No.
I shake my head. I’d definitely remember a girl like her. I down a deep pull of
my drink, thankful Pete’s into blondes and not brunettes, because she is
smoking.

“How
about you make it a game of strip pool, and we’re in,” the blonde girl named
Kaitlin says, causing Pete’s jaw to drop. Considering every party we have, Pete
tries to rally a game of strip pool, I think he just met his match, or maybe
his future wife.

Sharing
a look with one another, the girls laugh and for a brief moment I wonder if
we’re about to be swindled. They both seem way too confident at the prospect of
playing a game of strip pool in the middle of a raging party. Too bad they have
no idea that Pete’s a money shot.

This
should be fun.

“You’re
on.” Pete grabs the pool stick from the top of the table, trying to hide his
confident smile. “Guys against girls?”

“Obviously,”
Kaitlin purrs, taking the stick out of Pete’s hand and giving him a wink before
handing the pool stick to her friend. “We’ll break.”

I
can’t help but stare as the girl named Emily leans over the table and lines the
tip of the pool stick with the cue-ball. She pulls back, strokes the stick, and
then looks up and locks eyes with me before letting the stick shoot forward and
sending the cue-ball barreling towards the other balls. With a crack, the
brightly colored balls, which were racked neatly in a tight triangle, fly in
all directions and drop into multiple pockets. Oh shit.

We’re
the ones getting swindled. And she totally caught me staring.

“We
call solids. Now take’em off boys.” Kaitlin beams at her friend before leaning
against the table with her arms crossed, waiting for us to remove an item of
clothing.

I
glance at Emily, as she plants the pool stick on the ground, cocks her hip to
the side and smirks at me, her dark-rimmed eyes shining. 

Two
can play at this game. I take a drink of my beer before taking a slow step
towards the girl. “Would you mind holding this?” I ask, handing her the bottle.
I grip the back of my tee-shirt by the collar, and pull it up and over my head,
before tossing it on the edge of the table.

I
can’t help smirking back when her eyes go wide, obviously expecting me to take
off a shoe or something. “Thanks,” I say, taking back my drink and acting
nonchalant, even though I rarely let loose like this.

I
don’t know if it’s the relief from finals, or the possibility of the minors, or
this girl—maybe a combo—but I’m definitely feeling riskier than normal.  “It’s
your shot.”

“Let’s
do this!” Pete hollers before yanking off his tee-shirt, too, and making
Kaitlin squeal.

“Come
on, Ems. Let’s show’ em how it’s done.” Kaitlin gives Emily a high five and I
get the distinct impression this isn’t the first time they’ve done this.

Man,
was I right. Three shots later, I’m shirtless, shoeless, and sockless and the
next shot will be my jeans. Damn this girl is good.

I
try and catch Pete’s attention, since this is getting embarrassing, but it’s no
use. He and Kaitlin are far too distracted by each other to even notice we’re
starting to get an audience.

Maybe
a little distraction is exactly what I need to turn this around—unless I plan
on rocking my boxer briefs in front of the entire party. Which I don’t.

Emily
walks around the table to line up for her next shot and as she leans over I
lean in. Brushing the hair that has fallen over her shoulder and is grazing the
table away from her face, I let my fingers sweep slowly across her neck. I feel
her shiver as I hover my lips next to her ear and whisper, “How about we play
for double or nothing later tonight?”

Her
breath catches at the invitation, even though it’s more of something Pete would
typically say and not me, but as she scratches, I figure who cares. It worked.
Our turn.

“It’s
cool, man, you go.” Pete waves me off when I try and hand him the cue-ball. I
shake my head. Is he kidding? He’s the shark. I’m only slightly above average
compared to him, or Emily for that matter, but from the looks of it, Kaitlin
and Pete aren’t even playing anymore. Great.

I
set the cue-ball on the table, and line it up for an easy shot to sink the two
ball in the right hand pocket, before Emily’s body presses into the side of
mine.

Her
lips brush my ear lobe as she runs her fingernail up my outstretched arm,
giving me the chills. “Make it…and I’ll go double or nothing with you upstairs,
right now.”

Scratch.

Touché.