The Boyfriend League (16 page)

T
he Fourth of July game against the Denton Outlaws was a sellout. I was practically sitting in Bird's lap behind home plate.

I hadn't seen Jason before the game. His living in another house had definite drawbacks. But it also had its perks.

Only a couple of days had passed since he'd moved out, but when we were together there was an intensity to it, because we knew our time was short. We made the most of every minute. Kissing, laughing, talking about nothing and everything.

Big surprise. Mom had instituted a curfew. Like there was something we'd do after midnight that we wouldn't do before. But neither of us was bothered by her restrictions. Between
Jason working, practicing, and playing, we weren't going to stay out that late anyway. Still, I did miss watching movies and sharing ice cream with him late into the night.

But that morning, on his way to work, he'd dropped off a box—and a kiss. A couple of kisses, actually.

Have I mentioned that he's a terrific kisser? Long, slow kisses, exactly the way that I knew I'd like them.

After he left I opened the box. Inside I found a note:

 

For tonight's game.

—J

 

And a jersey. RATTLERS was written across the front. On the left side and on the back was the number eleven. Jason's number.

I was wearing it now with jeans, sneakers, and my Ragland Rattlers baseball cap. As soon as the game ended, they were going to shoot off fireworks. Bird and I planned to join the team on the field when that happened. Or more accurately, join our boyfriends.

Mom didn't usually come to the ball games, but she was there tonight, sitting on the top row with Dad, video camera at the ready.

Because, of course, Tiffany was walking onto the field. She was wearing red leather boots, a blue jean skirt, and a shirt that looked a lot like the Texas flag with one huge white stripe, one red stripe, and a patch of blue with a white star on it. A red bandanna graced her throat. The tiara sitting on her hair reflected the setting sun.

“She does realize this game isn't televised, doesn't she?” Bird asked.

“When you are Miss Teen Ragland, you are always on stage,” I said, repeating something Tiffany had told me.

She was still spending time with Mac. It wasn't awkward seeing them together. Now that I was with Jason, I'd come to realize that Mac had never really been my boyfriend. He'd simply been the guy who…well, just the
guy
, really. The guy I stood or sat next to. The guy I'd sometimes kissed.

He hadn't been the guy who made my heart pound or my smile broaden or my happiness increase. He hadn't been the one with whom I
wanted to share moments. He wasn't the one for whom I'd designated a section of my bedroom wall for marking memories.

Every night before I went to bed, I touched the Rangers cap hanging on the wall and wondered what other caps might join it. Jason had been talking about us driving to Oklahoma City to watch a Redhawks game. After that, who knew?

“If you'll all stand for the national anthem,” the announcer boomed over the sound system.

Along with everyone else, I got to my feet. I looked at the players lined up along the baseline, hats over their hearts. I spotted Jason, and wondered if I'd ever known such contentment at a ball game, if I'd ever really felt that I was so much a part of a game that I wasn't actually playing in.

“Singing the national anthem tonight, we are honored to have with us Miss Teen Ragland, Tiffany Runyon,” the announcer continued.

Tiffany raised her hand and waved, like she was sitting on a float, while the crowd clapped and cheered. I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled.

When the crowd quieted, Tiffany began to sing without any music accompanying her.

All I can say is that she belted out that song like she was standing on the deck of a ship watching the rockets' red glare. She didn't hold the notes longer than they should have been held or add any extra notes to the song. She sang it the way it was supposed to be sung.

I couldn't have been more proud of her.

“Wow, that was a surprise,” Bird said, after the cheers died down and we took our seats again. “She's really good.”

“Yeah,” I said. “She really is.”

We settled in to watch the game. Brandon was on first base. Jason was on the mound. Bird and I shook our rattles.

“What are you going to do when summer is over, Bird?”

“Start my senior year.”

I knocked my rattle on her knee. “I mean about Brandon.”

She shrugged. “Your cool idea wasn't so cool after all. I don't know what we're going to do. He goes to Texas Tech, out in West Texas. I'll never see him. What about you and Jason?”

“Austin isn't too far away. We might be able to make it work.”

“I just wanted a summer boyfriend.”

“Me, too. Only now I want a forever boyfriend.”

“Yeah.”

She said it like it was the worst thing in the world to want.

“You're going to come to the party afterward, right?” she asked.

“You bet. Wouldn't miss it.”

It was another opportunity to be with Jason. I usually ate lunch at Ruby Tuesday. And of course, I always came to watch his practices.

We'd gone to another concert. It had been a violinist. We'd been the only non-silver-haired people there. When you're poor, you can't be choosy about your entertainment, but that doesn't mean you can't have the best time ever.

Jason struck out the first, second, and third batters.

“Do
not
go talk to him,” Bird said.

“No problem.”

“Don't even look at him,” she said.

“Now, that I can't do. He's so cute.”

“Hey, guys,” Tiffany said, calling out to us from the steps.

“Hey, Tiff. Loved what you did with the national anthem,” I said.

“Didn't do anything with it.”

“I know. That's the reason I loved it.”

“Is there room for me to sit with y'all?”

Not really, but she was, after all, Miss Teen Ragland. And my sister.

“Sure,” I said. “We'll make room.”

I scrunched up next to Bird.

“It's a good thing I like you,” she whispered.

Tiffany made her way down the row and sat beside me.

“So who's up to bat?” she asked.

“Alan.”

She knew the players now because she'd started coming to the practices to watch Mac. She was going to be so thrilled when I told her that I'd signed her up to work concessions with Bird and me next week. Hey, you do the talk, you do the walk.

“Oh, and Mac's in the batter's box,” she
said, her voice laced with excitement.

This was the first time she'd actually seen him play, because the Rattlers hadn't had any games since we went to the Rangers game.

I leaned toward her. “Any minute now he's going to—”

Look into the stands and grin, touch his helmet. Tiffany waved at him.

“Isn't he to die for?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” Still a nine point five. While my guy…well, I'd decided to be honest and change his hottie score to ten point five. The only one on the roster.

Alan got to first base, and Mac stepped up to the plate.

Tiffany squeezed my hand. “Oh, I hope he does good.”

“He will.”

Mac bunted. Tiffany stood, started clapping, and yelling for him to run! Run! Run!

The ball rolled toward the pitcher, who quickly picked it up and slung it to first base.

Stunned, Tiffany sat down as Mac trotted across the field toward the dugout. She leaned toward me. “I thought he'd hit the ball harder.”

“That's called a bunt. He did it on purpose, so the guy on first could get to second. It's called making a sacrifice.”

“But if he'd hit a home run, the guy could have gotten home.”

“Home runs are rare, Tiff.”

“Still, it seems like you should always try.”

“He has to do what the coaches tell him. They told him to bunt.”

“Well, I don't think much of that strategy.”

I felt like I'd fallen into an alternate universe. Who would have thought I'd ever be talking baseball with Tiffany? The next thing I knew, she'd be joining Dad and me for our after-dinner pitch sessions.

Jason was the next batter. He did his whole Velcro routine. Then he stepped up to the plate.

The first ball went past.

“Strike!”

I groaned. “Come on, Jason.”

He swung at the second.

I didn't realize I was squeezing Tiffany's and Bird's hands until Bird said, “You know, bones break under pressure.”

“Oh, sorry.” I tried holding my own hands, but it wasn't as comforting.

The next ball was actually a ball. As a matter of fact, so were the two that followed, which gave Jason a full count. I hated full counts. I hated the pressure he was under. I just wanted him to have a good game.

But no matter how he batted or pitched, I'd still love everything about him. Because it wasn't the ballplayer I'd fallen for. It was the actual guy. Jason. Even if he didn't play ball, I'd be crazy about him.

For the briefest of seconds, it was like he looked back into the stands, like maybe he spotted me, shaking my rattle, giving him all the encouragement I could. I could have sworn I saw a corner of his mouth curl up. Then he did the whole Velcro batting glove thing and stepped up to the plate.

The pitch came.

He swung.

Crack!

He hit it! He hit it! I jumped up and started shouting.

I had a second to see the stunned look on
his face, like maybe he'd never hit the ball before, but that couldn't be…

And then I realized what it was. As he started running, he turned his head, his gaze following the ball…

The ball that went out of the ballpark!

Right over the Backyard Mania billboard!

Home run!

My boyfriend had hit a home run!

I jumped around, pointing at the number on my jersey, hugging Bird, hugging Tiffany, watching Jason slapping his coach's hand as he rounded third. I watched him cross home plate, wearing the biggest grin on his face.

“You know what this means, don't you?” Bird said.

“That we're ahead two to nothing?”

“It means he'll insist you sit in this exact spot for every game. He'll think this is the good luck spot.”

“No way.”

“Either that, or he'll ask you not to wash your underwear.”

“Ew! That's so not happening. Maybe I can
convince him it was wearing the jersey.”

Yeah,
I thought.
That's the ticket.

The rest of the game was actually a letdown. No more home runs. No more runs, period. Very few hits actually. The Rattlers ended up winning two to zero.

Awesome!

The players were going onto the field. The announcer was explaining that they'd welcome host families joining the players, but others should stay in the stands while they readied the fireworks.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing Tiffany's and Bird's hands.

I think most people were ignoring the announcer, because a lot of them were scrambling onto the field. And by the time we got there, I was sorta wishing I'd stayed in the stands.

I lost track of Bird and Tiffany, but I figured they'd gone off to hook up with Brandon and Mac.

“Good game,” someone said, patting my shoulder.

“Thanks,” I said, laughing.

Then I felt arms come around me and pull me close.

“Hey,” Jason said, kissing my neck before parking his chin on my shoulder.

Smiling brightly, I turned around in his arms. “Great game.”

“Thanks.”

“You hit a home run,” I said, like maybe he hadn't realized it.

“I know it seems odd, considering how long I've played baseball, but I've never hit one before,” he said. “But I knew, I knew as soon as I felt the bat make contact with the ball, that it was going to go out of the park. I don't know if it sounded different or felt different, but I just knew.”

“You did look stunned out there.”

“I was. Like I said, I'd never done that before. I mean, hitting has never been my strength.”

“It was tonight.” I reached up and kissed his chin.

“I need to figure out what it was I did that made me hit the home run.”

“You connected the bat to the ball.”

“No, it was more than that. Something I did before the game, maybe—”

“No, no, no,” I said, lifting myself up onto my toes so I could look directly into his eyes. “There was no
thing
you did other than keeping your eye on the ball and hitting at the precise moment when the impact would send the ball over the fence.”

“I'm not so sure.”

“Okay, you want to know what it was? It was having me for a girlfriend—”

He put his hand behind my head and kissed me to shut me up. Obviously, he didn't think I understood the whole ritual scene, and in truth, I didn't.

I mean, sure, when I played softball, I always chewed cinnamon-flavored gum during the game, and I never started chewing until after the national anthem. But that was different. If I didn't do that, I missed way more balls than I caught.

But home runs? There was nothing that guaranteed home runs.

Jason drew back. “Maybe it
is
having
you for a girlfriend.”

“I was kidding.”

“I'm not. I like you a lot, Dani, but collegiate season ends in a few more weeks. I can't stay.”

“I know.”

“But I could come back…to visit.”

I snuggled up against him. “That'd be great. And I'll come visit you.”

“All right, folks, we're going to douse the lights,” the announcer said.

The stadium went black. A colorful array of fireworks—green, yellow, white—burst into the air. A couple of seconds later, a boom sounded.