“You’re broadcasting the games?”
“Home games only.”
“Josie, what in the world.” She rubs her hands over her face even though she’s told me never to rub my face because it creates more wrinkles. “Why would you agree to this?”
“Because there’s a contest sponsored by the broadcasting school at ASU. If our team wins, we get to call an inning of a Diamondbacks game.”
“So?”
I realize I’ve twisted my hair in my hands and I’m holding on to it like a rope…or a lifeline. I let go. “If we win, I’ll make it to the Bigs.”
Her eyes darken as I repeat the words my dad used to say. “You’re doing this because of him? Honey, you have nothing to prove.”
“I know that.”
“Then why?”
I have to wet my lips before I can get the words out. “Because sometimes knowing something and feeling it are two different things.”
She covers my hand with hers. Her skin is so much softer than mine. Smoother. I feel hard, full of rough edges. “But if you do this…at what cost to yourself?”
“It’s not that bad. Without Dad there, it’s just a game. A game I happen to know really well.”
“But you’ll have to be around those people. That world.” Something flickers in her eyes. “Wait. You said color commentary. Who’s doing the play-by-play?” The kettle whistles, startling us both. She turns off the burner, barely taking her eyes from my face. “Josie?”
“His name is Garrett Reeves.” I feel my cheeks heating and from Mom’s narrowed gaze she sees it, too. “It’s not like that,” I say quickly.
“Not like what? Is he a baseball player?”
“He was. He’s hurt.”
“For heaven’s sake, Josie. Please tell me this isn’t about a baseball player?”
“Mom, please. I would never. It’s not like that.”
“Not yet,” she murmurs.
“Not ever. He wants a life in baseball. Even if I liked him, I could never trust him. He’s too much like Dad. And no way would I go back to that world.”
There’s a sadness in her eyes I haven’t seen in a while. “I know how it is, Josie. I lived it. High school sports—athletes—they live a charmed life and you feel charmed just being a part of it. It can suck you in if you’re not careful.”
“I’m always careful, Mom.”
“Keep it that way. I don’t want to see your heart broken again.” She runs her fingers down my cheek, her gaze far away. “Don’t fall in love with the wrong guy. Once you do, you’re never really over it.”
Chapter Eleven
I get to the game a little early, but Garrett is already there, setting up the equipment. Mai is in the stands, her chem book open on her lap, but she says she’ll look up at all the Anthony parts. I’ve thought about teaching her baseball, but her head is filled with things that will actually improve the world, so I decide not to.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“All done,” Garrett says. “I’m just checking the site to make sure the video is coming through.”
Sure enough, I can see the field on his laptop screen.
I set my backpack next to his on the floor and drag my stool forward so I have a clear view of the field. Today we’re playing the Arredondo Warriors.
“It’s a big game,” Garrett tells me. “The Warriors are always in the playoff hunt.” He pulls his key chain from his pack and I watch as he rubs the M twice before setting it on the counter.
“What was that?” I ask.
Pink creeps up his ears. “Nothing. Habit.”
I grin. “Garrett Reeves is superstitious?”
“Superstitions have been proven to build confidence and improve performance.”
He can’t quite meet my eyes, which is, well, kind of endearing. “They’re also sweet,” I say. “Like believing in unicorns.”
“Who doesn’t believe in unicorns?” He’s full-on blushing now, but he rubs the M again, kissing it for good measure. “Don’t disrespect the power of M.”
“The power of M? That’s a new one.” My chest rumbles with a laugh. “I’d forgotten about the superstitions.”
He hands me my headset. “But you like them?”
Faces flash in my mind—grown men who wouldn’t wash their socks after a win or shave their faces when they were on a streak. Even my dad had to have a blue Gatorade before every game he played or managed. “Superstitions have a way of turning huge egos into humans.”
Garrett’s smile is somehow both pompous and sweet. “I knew there was something.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Something you loved about the game.”
I slip on my headset. “One thing. And it hardly counts.”
“One thing now.” He winks. “But we’re just getting started.”
He cues up “The Star Spangled Banner” and we both stand as it plays over the speakers. Then the umpire gestures the start of the game and Garrett turns up the volume on our mics.
“Welcome to Wildcat baseball,” he says. “This is Garrett Reeves with Josie Walters. We’ll be bringing you the game today between Cholla and Arredondo. Cholla comes in to today’s game with a five and two record. The Warriors have the same winning record, which means we should be in for a good one.” He reads through the line-ups of both teams and then the game begins.
Garrett’s got an easy delivery. As the innings fly by, he calls the action clearly and without a lot of fuss. He’s also ridiculously positive, spinning a strikeout as a good at-bat, and ignoring a wild throw by our pitcher to focus on our catcher’s dive for it. Then Anthony is caught stealing in the fifth.
“Aggressive lead on the base path by Adams, but he’s called out at second,” Garrett says.
“Aggressive?” I repeat with a touch of snark. “Is that a new word for ‘poor base running’?”
His eyes flash with surprise as he gestures to the field. “That was a great opportunity to take a free base. You’ve got a lefty on the mound with a terrible move.”
“But you’ve got a catcher with a rocket for an arm. And I’m sorry, but Adams was so off-balance.”
“Because he was shuffling.”
“That
