A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(28)

     



 

"I'm really sorry, Wes," I say, not able to look up at him. His hand  finds my chin quickly, righting my gaze back to his. His smile is warm  and genuine, and it breaks me a little more.

"Joss, please … do not be sorry. It's an old truck. I swear," he says, his  eyes willing me to accept what he says. He's lying. But he's lying for  me. It makes me feel both worse and amazing all at once.

"Wes, what are you doing here?" My father's voice breaks through  everything, and on instinct, I step away, like a child caught touching  something expensive and breakable. At the last second, though, Wes  reaches for my hand, clasping it and not letting go. My father's eyes  see it.

"Hi, Coach. We had Joss over for lunch. I'm just bringing her home," he  says, as if this is normal-as if me going to his house is a thing I do  often, a thing my dad accepts. It isn't any of those things, and that's  painfully clear in the expression on my father's face.

"That's thoughtful of you, Wes. Joss, I'm sure you have homework or  something you're probably ignoring inside. Why don't you head in. I'm  going to chat about our opening week of games with Wes for a few  minutes," my dad says over his shoulder, his focus not really on me,  more at me. His jaw is rigid, and his neck muscles are flexing.

"I don't have any homework," I sigh.

"And maybe that's part of your problem. She's got straight Cs," my dad  answers quickly, almost proud to point out my faults and failures in  front of Wes. I feel my gut clench, and I suppress my desire to argue  with him.

"Sure it is," I say, biting my tongue on the rest.

I hold up a few fingers and mouth thank you to Wes as I shuffle my bare  feet toward the house. I stop at the edge of the garage and open my bag  to pull my damp shoes out to let them finish drying. I take the  opportunity to study Wes and my dad, looking for clues on their  conversation. It looks like they're only talking baseball, even though  my instincts tell me they're probably talking about me.

Wes clutches his keys a few times and nods at my father, glancing at me  when he can, his expression remaining the same. When my father places  one hand on Wes's shoulder, patting him twice, I know their conversation  is done, and I fumble with the knot in the plastic bag, trying to get  my shoes out faster.

"What are you wasting your time with now?" my dad says, pulling the bag  from my hands and making short work of the knot. He holds one of my wet  shoes up and tilts his head.

"We had a water fight," I say, regretting sharing anything about my day with him the second the words leave my lips.

He sneers, letting a short puff of air escape his nostrils as he pulls  out my second shoe, tossing both of them in the full sun of the driveway  before handing the bag of clothes back to me.

"You should get a job, quit wasting your time on things that won't get  you anywhere. Maybe it will make you focus on studying more too," he  says, moving into the garage, toward the door to the house. He pauses to  kick my softball bag further into the corner, out of his way. It feels  like he's kicking me. "I'll pay your phone bill this month. Next month,  it's on you. And Joss … "

I don't even bother to look up as my father turns. My name sounds like  disappointment coming from his lips as he stands there, one foot already  inside the house. I keep my eyes on my three-year-old bag of equipment  that's falling apart, the handles taped together, one sewn to the bag  with fishing line I got from Taryn's dad.

"Don't bring Wes down with your … drama. That boy's talented."

He doesn't expect me to answer. He expects me to obey. The door closes  behind him, and I think about how I probably should follow his orders.  But then I think about how I'm talented too, and the man who's supposed  to believe in me couldn't give a damn about that.

Somewhere along the way … he forgot.





Seven





"It won't be so bad, Joss. We'll get to work together sometimes too."

All morning, Taryn's been talking up the job she got me at Spider's  Jungle Gym. She works there on Sundays, so when I called her yesterday  afternoon, after the ultimatum from my dad, she put in a word with her  manager before she left. All I have to do is fill out the application  and drop it off this week and voila-the job is mine.

I guess I should be glad the process was easy. And the gig isn't  anything hard. I have to run the party room, and then clean up the gym  when they close three or four nights a week. As a bonus, my father won't  be able to count on me on Saturdays anymore, because that's the biggest  reason I got hired-they lost their Saturday person, and Taryn said I  could fill the slot. I'm sure my dad will call anyway, but he'll have to  wait. And maybe … just maybe … eventually he'll quit calling period.         

     



 

"I know. Thanks for getting me the job, T. I was kinda thinking of  getting one anyway. I guess I just hate that my dad put his foot down  like that," I say, knowing it sounds whiney. It's not that I don't want  to work, it's just that I don't understand the things my dad decides to  care about when it comes to me.

"Girl, you know my dad made me get this job. I turned sixteen, and he  was like, hello sweet sixteen and goodbye allowance," she laughs.

I smirk and lean into her while we carry our bags from the locker room  toward the bus idling by the main field, our cleats scratching and  clapping against the pavement. We have an away game with North today-not  a far drive. Taryn's family is coming to watch. I like it when they  come, because they usually cheer for me too. Without them, I'd have  nobody in the stands.

The boys have a game at home, and as I step up onto the bus, I see Wes  throwing his warm-up pitches in the bullpen, my father right behind him,  measuring his speed with the gun.

I see Kyle run from the locker room to the field, and I'm relieved. He  wasn't at school for most of the day, and he ignored the text I made  Taryn send him. I'm still too uncomfortable to text him on my own; I  don't know what to say. I'm glad he's here though. I didn't want him to  miss his game. Even if he isn't pitching, I'm sure my dad will play him.  Kyle's too good to leave on the bench.

Taryn and I shuttle our bags to the back and each take a seat in the  rear of the bus. There are no senior girls on our varsity squad, so  we're the oldest. We're also the toughest. I'm not sure how I became a  leader, other than the rest of the girls were just natural followers.  They still try to put braids in my hair, though, so I must not  intimidate them too much. I succumbed to one ribbon today-our catcher,  Shelby, insisted. I pulled the bow part out when she wasn't looking, so  I'm only sporting two long strands of red ribbon now. I saw her notice,  and I could tell she was itching to fix it. I don't know what I'll do if  she touches my head again.

"Looks like Wes has a fan club today," Taryn says, nodding over my  shoulder. I sit upright and turn to see McKenna and a few other girls  walking out to the baseball field wearing shorty shorts, high socks, and  red baseball jerseys.

"Whatever," I say, turning back and pulling my headphones from my bag,  pushing them in my ears and cranking LCD Soundsystem up as loud as it  will go. Taryn keeps her eyes on me, her lip twisted in a smirk. She  knows I care more than I'm letting on, but I'm still not taking these  earbuds out of my ears, and I'm not acknowledging Wes's entourage of  hooker wannabes either.

I might be a little jealous.

My phone only has thirty percent left, so after a few songs, I turn the  streaming music off, but I leave my headphones on for the rest of the  trip so I don't have to answer any questions about Wes or McKenna … or my  lunch at the Stokes house. That's the problem with Taryn dating TK-he  told her I was there Sunday, and when I didn't mention it to her, she  called me on it, eyebrow raised, arms crossed, and suspicion and teasing  twinkling in her eyes. I'll have to answer her questions eventually,  but not before our game-and not on a bus full of over-excited freshmen  and sophomores who would absolutely die knowing Joss Winters has fucking  fluttering going on in her tummy over a boy.

I put my phone and earbuds away when we get to North's campus, and Taryn  and I are the last two off the bus. The North girls are supposed to be  pretty good this year, and our team's young. I'm anticipating getting  our asses kicked, but I plan on standing out.

Coach has me at shortstop, and after we unpack, stretch, and warm up, we  take infield. For the first time all day, I feel all stress and anger  leave my body. It's a team sport, but when I'm out here, I'm on my own.  Nobody tells me what to do-they just let me be. I field cleanly, turn my  double plays, and even make a diving grab that gets the attention of  the other bench. I can see them whispering about me, and that makes me  excited. I get off on their fear-I live to intimidate.

I am home.

It's an honor to bat fourth. That's what my dad used to say. When the  first three girls strike out, though-and we can't seem to get an out to  save our lives so I can get back up to bat-being fourth in the lineup  kinda feels more like a curse. Our only outs are the two balls hit to  me, until finally someone reaches for a slow pitch and pops it up to  Shelby. I'm almost willing to let her retie the bow in my hair I'm so  happy she caught the damn thing.