A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(61)

"She see that?" my father says, the cocky smile spreading quickly on his face.

A few drops of rain pelt my eyelids.

"Yeah, she saw that," I say, swinging my bat around and laying it back on my shoulder. "Go again."

I swing a few more times while Caitlyn takes her warm-ups, each of us  battling to be more impressive. She throws harder-I hit harder. Finally,  after about ten swings, I help my father pick up the few balls, and we  walk around the dugout to step back under the eave. The rain is picking  up.         

     



 

"They're going to have to cancel," I say, sighing.

We both cling to the fence and look out at the storm rolling our  direction. The clouds are a dark gray, heavy with rain. One of those  clouds is bound to open up, and it's going to completely flood this  field.

"Maybe you'll get your bat in first," my dad says, zipping his jacket up and tugging his hat down over his thinning hair.

"That's some serious rain, Coach," a familiar voice says behind us. My  father and I both turn at the same time to see the boys-TK, Levi, Kyle,  and Wes.

"Gentlemen," my father says, his voice serious. He'll never really stop  being their coach. "I see you made it here in record time. Not sure I  want to know how you did that."

"Kyle drove," Wes says, selling my friend out. Kyle shoots a glance his  way, his eyes wide. Wes just shrugs. "Dude, your driving scares the crap  out of me. I'm not going to pretend it's better than it is. It's fast  though."

"Ah yes, the Marley lead foot," my father says, his gaze coming back to  Kyle. "I hope your father's truck made it here in one piece?"

"It's my truck now, sir. I'm paying it off. And yeah, it's in one  piece," he says, rolling his eyes at Wes before looking at me. I offer  him a half smile.

"You do drive fast," I say.

"Yeah, nobody was complaining when they wanted to get here on time," he says.

Wes chews at the inside of his cheek before leaning his elbow into Kyle.  "You're right, man. Thanks for driving-like a fucking maniac," he says.

Kyle stares at him again for a few seconds then nods. "You're welcome,"  he says, holding his knuckles against the chain link between him and me.  I meet his knuckles with my own for a quick pound and he steps over to  the bleachers to sit next to Levi and TK.

"Thanks for coming," I say, stepping toward the far end of the dugout  while our lead-off batter steps out to the plate. I hit in the fourth  spot, so I have a batter or two to get myself ready for this.

"Wouldn't have missed it," Wes says, his head leaning forward against  the fence. I slide my fingers over his where they grip the metal links.

"How was photography?" I ask.

"Good. I think he gave me a B. He said I was supposed to use an object," he shrugs.

"Your brothers' legs aren't objects?" I say, one eyebrow up.

"That's what I asked," he laughs. "He sighed and wrote B on my paper, so  I think maybe he just split the difference. Whatever, I'm good with a  B," he says. His eyes come up to meet mine, and we lock our gaze for a  few seconds while the noise of everything else fades away. His lip ticks  up on one side before he looks back down at our feet, letting his right  foot kick into the bottom of the fence.

"The Chico guys are here," I say, glancing over to the home plate where Bria is now facing two strikes.

"Yeah, I saw them," he says.

"Strike three!" the ump calls. Bria jogs back to the dugout, her  expression dejected as she runs by me. I pat her helmet as she moves to  the corner.

"You'll get her next time," I say.

"She's too fast," Bria says, stuffing her helmet into the pocket on the  bottom of her bag. She pulls her gloves off and grabs her gear to get  ready to take the field. My attention comes back to Wes.

I breathe in slowly, our eyes locked again. No smiles. Just nerves from  me. I look down at my gloves and adjust the Velcro tighter.

"You're faster," he says. I chuckle once. "I'm serious. I'm not feeding you bullshit. You're faster, and you know it."

I sigh and turn around to grab my bat from the place I hooked it through  the fence. "They're here to see her. I'm kidding myself thinking that  anyone gives a shit about me," I say.

"Stop it," Wes interrupts. I pause, one leg propped up on the bench as I  lean my weight into the fence. His hand reaches in between the links to  find mine and I let go of my bat to feel him. My eyes flit up to his to  find his stare challenging me. "Make them notice you. She throws hard.  You hit hard. They're going to want you both on their roster. Make them.  Then fuck 'em, and go play for Stanford."

A sharp breath of a laugh escapes me, and my mouth smiles.

Shannon walks to first, so I move to step out of the dugout, Wes walking along the other side until I get to the gate.

"Fuck 'em, huh?" I say quietly, swinging my bat over my shoulder.

His cheek dimples with his lopsided smile as he pulls his hat from his  head once to smooth out his hair. He wiggles it back into place with  both hands and lifts his chin at me slightly.         

     



 

"Yeah, fuck 'em," he says.

I bite my lip, nodding, and step out to the damp grass alongside the  field to begin taking a few warm-up swings. As if the sky is announcing  my arrival, the air crackles with a long rolling thunder, the sound no  longer far in the distance, but only a mile or two away.

The raindrops start to come down harder, each drop bigger, carrying more  weight. The small drumming along the ground and nearby rooftops picks  up speed, and within seconds it's a steady drumroll, with powerful winds  coming in behind the fall of water, blowing the rain so hard it stings  my face to look at it.

"To the bus ladies," Coach Adams yells, waving his arms. I run into the  dugout for my things, and my father grabs them from me, ordering me to  get to the bus while he loads the small wagon with everything he can fit  from our dugout. The boys help him, and we all climb inside while the  team from Los Banos runs toward the brick building near the outfield  fence.

We all climb on the bus, and I look out the back window to see Wes along  with the other boys stuffed into the three seats of the cab of Kyle's  truck. The rain is hammering their windshield so much I can barely make  out their faces.

My father pushes the gear in through the back of the bus, and Taryn and I  climb to the rear to haul bags and bats inside. I drag my bag to my  seat and reach into the bottom pocket, pulling out my phone. I try to  send a text to Wes, but it only sits in the queue, spinning. No signal.

"That came fast," my father says, brushing the water from the arms of  his jacket as he stands at the main door of the bus. He starts to pull  the door closed, but the coach from the other team runs over to talk to  him. He climbs up the few steps and we all watch as he talks with my  dad.

After a minute, my dad shakes his hand and pulls the door closed behind  the other coach, who runs across the field with his jacket drawn tight  around his body, the neck yanked over his head to shield him from the  heavy rain.

"Cancelled?" I ask, my eyes wincing.

"Yeah, this storm's pretty deep. The fields are going to be covered in  water for days when this is done. We'll reschedule," he says, taking the  seat in front of me. I like that he sits here, in the middle of the  bus. I'm disappointed, and I want him close.

I lean back against the window and slide my feet down, letting them  dangle into the aisle. My father does the same, turning his head to the  side to face me.

"We'll face her again. You'll get your shot," he says.

"I guess I get more practice now first," I say, holding the right side  of my mouth up. My father's hand rises to pat the top of mine where I'm  holding on to the back of his seat.

"That's the spirit," he says. He pats two more times, and before his  touch disappears, I reach for him, my fingers catching his before they  disappear into his pockets or lap. I squeeze his hand, keeping my eyes  on it. He squeezes back. When he lets go, I feel more ready than I did  before-ready to face Caitlyn Moore, ready to take the first step with my  father.

The bus rumbles to life, and I look out the side window as Kyle pulls  his truck next to us before we drive out onto the road. It's hard to see  him, but his hand presses flush against the window as a signal they're  leaving along with us.

We pull out behind them onto the main road, and the rain only grows  stronger as we drive slowly through the central part of town, the tires  of our bus forming waves that send the water rushing along the  sidewalks. The people that were walking outside on our way into town,  have now all gone inside. The streets are dark and empty, and the  flashes of lightening and roll of thunder is continuous.

I stare at Taryn, both of us with our phones in our laps. She holds hers up and shrugs.

"I can't get a signal either," I say.