“Glad you guys made it.” He turns to Anthony. “You know Mai?”
“Show some respect,” Anthony says. “That’s Killer, the world’s best pool chicken player.”
Mai raises one eyebrow in acknowledgment, but I can feel her vibrating next to me.
“This is Jason,” Garrett adds. “It’s his house.”
“We had ceramics together,” Mai says. She points to an ugly gray bowl on one of the shelves surrounding the widescreen TV. “I have the exact same bowl.”
Jason laughs. “Freshman year. I remember you. You organized the Empty Bowls project. Dude,” he says to Garrett. “She got the whole class to make soup bowls and we sold them and donated the money to a homeless shelter.”
“You should have donated that one, too,” Garrett says, pointing to the bowl on the shelf.
“That’s art, man.”
Garrett slugs him playfully on the shoulder, then says to me, “You missed most of the game.”
“Diamondbacks are getting killed.”
“Come on, ye of little faith. Plenty of time for a comeback.” He points us to the kitchen. “Sodas and water are in the cooler. You guys want something?”
Mai leads the way and pulls two waters from the cooler and hands me one. She pauses at the orange bag on the counter. “They have Cheetos.”
“She doesn’t get out much,” I tell Garrett as Mai grabs the bag and heads back toward the TV. I watch her, suddenly anxious. Mai’s always been oblivious to guys. This crush is so out of character that I’m not sure what she expects will happen. I don’t want her to end up hurt—don’t want her to fall for a guy just because he’s hot and calls her Killer. I’ve seen Anthony in full-flirt mode all year. For him, Mai is one more girl. But for Mai, it’s her first crush. That can be intense.
Anthony nudges Evan to make room and Mai sits down, getting swallowed up between big bodies and deep leather.
“This was a bad idea,” I mumble.
“Mai can hold her own.”
“She can’t. She talks big, but she’s not used to this kind of thing.”
Garrett frowns as he rests one hip against the counter. “What kind of thing? TV? Hanging out with friends?”
There’s a sudden burst of laughter from the general vicinity of the couch where Mai is sitting. I take in the room—really take it in—and I don’t know what I’m expecting. Mom told me stories about baseball parties. About beer and pot and sex. I saw signs of those things at stadiums growing up, too. Comparatively, this gathering does seem pretty tame. There are seven guys and six other girls—four of them, including the dark-haired girl Garrett was talking to, who have taken over the floor cushions by the back patio door.
“I’m not saying we don’t have assholes on the team,” Garrett says. “With a roster of twenty, there are going to be a few. But these are my buddies—most of them I’ve known since elementary school. They’re good guys. Even if they aren’t the brainy-elitist gigglers you usually hang with.”
I burst out in a surprised laugh.
Garrett grins, the warmth in his eyes kindling an answering heat in the pit of my stomach. He pushes off the counter. “Come on. Let’s talk to Scottie.”
Chapter Seventeen
Garrett leads me to a bedroom at the end of the hall. There’s another TV and beanbags. Three guys holding controllers are battling it out, fingers clacking over the intermittent cries and curses. Cyborg-looking creatures race across the screen.
There’s an explosion on the TV and then a fist pump by a guy with curly brown hair.
“Scottie,” Garrett says.
The victor tilts his head back. Along with the hair, I see freckles and glasses with black frames.
“Andy!” I say.
“Josie!” He sounds as surprised as I am.
“You guys know each other?” Garrett asks.
“He’s in my calculus class. Why’d you say his name is Scottie?”
“It’s what we call him.”
“I made the mistake of saying I was born in Scotland,” Andy says. He gets up, dropping his controller on the beanbag. “I heard you took over from Nathan in the booth. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it. I didn’t know you were a baseball fan.”
“I’m not.”
“She is,” Garrett says. “She’s just forgotten temporarily.”
“I grew up with the game,” I tell Andy, who still looks confused. “What about you? How did the smartest guy in my hardest class end up as the baseball lackey?”
Andy’s brows shoot past the edge of his frames. “Is that how you described me?” he asks Garrett.
“I said baseball god.”
Andy laughs. “Blame it on my mom. She’s got a rule. I’ve got to participate in one club and one sport every year.” He holds out skinny arms. “The sport thing is a challenge. I stumbled on the idea of baseball lackey and Mom said yes, so here I am, four years later.”
Garrett and I exchange a look. Not the drama we were hoping for.
“You sure baseball isn’t your dying sister’s wish?” Garrett asks.
“What?” Andy scratches at his jaw. “I don’t have a sister.”
“How about an immigrant grandfather who fought in two wars to come to America to play baseball and breed a love of sport in his grandson?” I ask.
His eyes flicker from me to Garrett. “Yeah, uh. I’m going back to my game.” He gives me a nod. “See you tomorrow in class.”
“See ya.”
Garrett and I turn back to the hall. “That was disappointing,” I say.
“Extremely.”
“Maybe one of the other guys?”
There’s a cheer from the living room. Garrett perks up. “A comeback!”
“No way.”
I follow him to the family room, and sure enough the D-Backs have scored two and are threatening to score two more.
“What did I tell you?” he says.
“They’re going to choke.”
He laughs, and I know I shouldn’t like it so much when he laughs. When I’m
