The Boyfriend League

  Then I realized what he’d been staring at. It wasn’t my eyes. It was a little ring of black dots where my mascara—while it was still wet—had touched above and below my eyes. I looked like some sort of Cirque du Soleil performer.

  “Great! Just great!” I muttered.

  You get only one chance to make a first impression. This wasn’t exactly the impression I’d planned to make.

  Chapter 4

  During dinner, I did little more than eat and sneak sideways glances at Jason. I was kind of freaking out about the unfavorable impression I was certain I’d made on him. A klutz who ran into him. Not to mention the weird fashion statement. It hadn’t helped matters that Tiffany had whispered, “Good, you got rid of the clown face,” before we sat down to eat.

  Meanwhile, Mom, Dad, and Tiffany peppered him with questions.

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Round Rock.”

  “That’s near Austin, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now you go to the University of Texas?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Great team.”

  Jason smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” That, surprisingly, was from Tiffany.

  I found myself way too interested in that answer. For Bird’s sake, I told myself. I needed to know the answer in case she decided he was the guy she wanted to hook up with.

  Jason blushed. “No. Don’t really have time with school, practice, work—”

  “Are you going to summer school?” Tiffany asked.

  Jason’s blush deepened. “Uh, no, but I’ll be working.”

  He looked at Mom, then Dad. “The team manager arranged for me to work at Ruby Tuesday, so I can help out with the extra cost of meals.”

  “No, you can’t,” Mom said. “You’re our guest. We have more than enough food.”

  “I’ll be here for almost two and a half months. That’s a lot of groceries.”

  Groceries? Not in our house. But I figured he’d learn.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mom insisted.

  “She’s right, son, don’t worry about it,” Dad said. “It’s our pleasure to have a ballplayer in the house. You can thank Dani for that. It was her idea.”

  Jason looked at me then. “Thanks.”

  I felt the heat creeping up my face. “No problem.”

  We kinda stared at each other. He was the first to look away. It should have been me. I knew that, but I really liked looking at him.

  “So, what are the chances of the ’Horns being NCAA National Champions next year?” Dad asked, and the awkward moment had shifted into players, coaches, strengths, weaknesses, strategies.

  Have I mentioned that Dad’s a UT alumnus? So, not only could Jason and Dad talk baseball, they could talk college, too.

  After dinner, Dad’s dream came true. He took Jason to the backyard so they could pitch the ball back and forth.

  “You gonna join us, Dani?” Dad had asked.

  “Maybe another time.” Did I really want Jason to know I had a decent throwing arm?

  So I went upstairs, grabbed my cell phone out of my tote bag, and called Bird. “I blew it.”

  “How’d you do that?” she asked.

  I gave her a quick rundown of all my most memorable moments, including the mascara fiasco.

  “Like he noticed,” Bird said when I was finished.

  “Oh, he noticed. I’ve never had a guy look at me that hard before. He was probably trying to figure out if it was a birthmark, a tattoo, or if I was preparing for Halloween a few months early.”

  She laughed. Bird has a totally fun laugh that has a way of making you feel better, even if you don’t want to feel better.

  “I’m betting he was mesmerized by your eyes. No one has eyes as green as yours. Not even colored contacts can make eyes that green. Seriously, he probably didn’t even notice the mascara,” she repeated. “Stephanie says guys don’t really pay attention to stuff like that. But I can ring her hotline if you want to be sure.”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “So, what’s Jason like? And start with the vital stats.”

  “Black hair, blue, blue eyes. Tall, slender, nice, kinda quiet. Pitcher. No girlfriend.”

  “Fantastic! I can’t wait to meet him.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but I wasn’t exactly thrilled by her enthusiasm for meeting Jason. She was my best friend. I wanted her to have a boyfriend. I just wasn’t sure I wanted it to be him.

  “What’s your guy like?” I asked, anxious to move on.

  “He’s a hottie. Todd McPherson, but everyone calls him Mac. Dark hair, brown eyes. A little on the short side, but still cute. He’s a catcher. No girlfriend, either.”

  “Are you crushing on him?” I asked.

  “Not really. I mean, he’s nice, and I like talking with him, but I’m not going to have a problem with him sleeping down the hall.”

  I told myself I wasn’t going to have a problem, either, but I wasn’t so sure.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Bird said. “Why don’t you date my guy, and I’ll date yours?”

  It seemed like an easy and perfect solution. I didn’t know why I didn’t jump on it. Maybe because I couldn’t see her with Jason. Maybe I didn’t want to see her with him. “I don’t know.”

  “You can’t date Jason,” she reminded me.

  “I know.” Mom hadn’t made Tiffany and me sign a contract, but she had made us cross our hearts like we were five years old. Sometimes our parents just didn’t see us growing up.

  “They have their first practice tomorrow,” Bird said. “I went out to the team’s website and printed off a roster of the players. We’ll scope them out tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  A knock sounded on the closed door. Could it be Jason? What if it was? I hadn’t changed for bed, but still…

  “I’ve gotta go,” I said.

  “’Kay. Later.”

  I closed my cell phone and set it on the nightstand.

  “Dani?”

  It was my mom. Before I could respond, she opened the door and peered in. “You okay?”

  It seemed like an odd question.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She came inside and sat on the edge of the bed. I pulled my legs up beneath me.

  “You’re usually the one your dad plays ball with. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about him playing with Jason.”

  I shrugged. “I’m fine with it. It was part of the reason I suggested we host a player, so Dad would have a guy to pitch to.”

  “You know your dad doesn’t wish you’d been a boy.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t wish he had a son.”

  “That’s true, I suppose.” She lifted some lint off the bedspread.

  “Was there something else, Mom?”

  She looked up, held my gaze. “You seemed pretty infatuated with Jason during dinner.”

  I felt the heat rush to my face. Did anything ever escape her notice? “I’m just not used to having a guy at the table, that’s all.”

  “And the extra mascara before dinner?”

  “A tip I picked up from Tiffany’s blog. Obviously she neglected to mention it takes longer to dry with three applications.”

  She grinned. “You read Tiffany’s blog?”

  “She’s the glamour expert.”

  “You’re not usually into glamour.”

  “I’m almost seventeen. Don’t you think it’s time I was?”

  “I think you need to be true to yourself.”

  I couldn’t help it. I rolled my eyes. It was such a Mom thing to say.

  She patted my knee. “I’ll leave you with that thought.”

  Mom was really good about not belaboring a point. She got up.

  “Mom?”

  She turned and looked at me.

  I scrunched up my face. “I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

  She smiled sadly. “I know, swee
tie, but it’ll happen.”

  I nodded. That was her standard answer, but I really needed more. “Thanks for letting Jason stay with us for the summer.”

  “Just let me know if there are any problems.”

  “I will.”

  After she left, I tried to look at my room through the eyes of a stranger. With the exception of my posters of Hugh Jackman, Green Day, and Chad Michael Murray, everything was baseball. I loved it.

  But the important question was: Do guys like tomboys?

  Chapter 5

  “Is Brandon Bentley totally hot or what?” Bird asked, referring to the player standing at first base waiting for the coach to hit a grounder to him.

  Bird and I were sitting on the bleachers at the baseball field, watching as the Ragland Rattlers practiced. A couple of other girls—“Summer Sisters” they’d announced as they’d walked by wiggling their fingers—were sitting at the far end of the bleachers.

  “It is pretty warm out here,” I said, flicking my fingers over the sash hem of my brown shorts. I was wearing a lime green visor that didn’t clash with my lacy white camisole, hoping the neon shade would make me more visible in the stands.

  Groaning, Bird looked over at me. “I think you should leave the smart comebacks to me. That one was too lame for words.”

  I shrugged, my gaze drifting to Jason, who was pitching in an area away from the diamond, along with a couple of other guys. A man I assumed was the pitching coach would say something from time to time, and one of the guys would nod. I guess he was giving them pointers.

  Like all the other players out there, Jason was wearing a T-shirt and generic baseball pants. His shirt was white with red sleeves that stopped just above his elbow. No witty slogans, no rock band advertising, nothing to give any hint to his personality.

  He’d come to the practice field straight from work. Apparently he worked the lunch shift, so he could make the late afternoon and early evening practices and games. It was Saturday, and the first game of the season would be Tuesday. It didn’t seem like much time to practice, but then these guys were really only extending their baseball season. They’d already had months of practice and games. They’d be ready by Tuesday. No sweat.

  Bird tapped the roster she’d given me when she’d picked me up earlier to bring me to the field. She’d added a column: Hottie Score.

  “You know, I bet Brandon is a home-run hitter.” She bumped her shoulder against mine and wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll let him hit a home run with me.”

  I laughed. Have I mentioned that Bird has a one-track mind very similar to mine? Guys, guys, guys.

  “I think he’s definitely deserving of a ten,” she said.

  While Bird wrote his score on both our rosters, I reached into my tote bag, brought out my chocolate chip cookie dough lip balm, and spread some over my lips. The summer heat was murder.

  “So, who appeals to you?” Bird asked.

  Dropping the balm back into my tote, I glanced over at her. “You say that like you’ve already made your decision that Brandon is the one.”

  “I’m narrowing down the field, that’s all. What about you?”

  We’d given Mac a nine point five, but only because Bird said we couldn’t give every guy a ten.

  I hadn’t scored Jason yet. He deserved a ten. No question. But officially scoring him as the hottest of the hot would make me uncomfortable living with him. After all, I wasn’t really supposed to be noticing him. A six. I could easily live with a six. Still, I felt like I was betraying him when I wrote the score on my roster.

  “Shortstop is cute,” I said. I glanced at the lineup. Chase Parker.

  “I can’t tell at this distance,” Bird said. “I wish they had these guys’ pictures on the roster.”

  “They’ll have them in the programs on Tuesday.”

  The team always sold programs for a buck at the games. Inside were the stats on each Rattler. There was also a roster of the visiting team, but they didn’t include their stats. I guess the general consensus was: Who cares? They’re not our guys. Ragland was pretty loyal to its team.

  “Opening night is free rattle night,” Bird said. “Not that we need any more rattles.”

  Most home games had a giveaway. Opening night was always rattles that looked like rattlesnakes’ tails on a stick. Big surprise—when shaken, the individual slats of wood clapped together to make a sound like an angry rattlesnake. Making them clack showed team loyalty. Paper fans were also a very popular giveaway, at least one game a week. Bird and I had quite a collection: seat cushions, team caps, team T-shirts, baseball bat–shaped pens, baseball stress balls—whatever the local merchants were willing to donate.

  “I like the way the second baseman moves when he goes after a grounder,” I said.

  “Yeah, he’s really fluid. I wish I’d brought my dad’s binoculars.”

  “We’ll be able to see them better once they start batting practice.” Since we were on the second row, just to the right of home plate, we’d have a great view.

  “How do you like having a guy in the house?” Bird asked.

  “Hard to say. Jason is really quiet. For some reason, I thought guys were noisy.”

  “I’m sure real brothers are. These guys are probably just trying to be polite.”

  “I guess. He played pitch with Dad last night.”

  “Must have been a rush for your dad.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, it was.” Although Dad, loyal as ever, had stopped by my bedroom before going to bed to let me know I was still his favorite ball-tosser. “The guy’s good”—he’d winked at me—“but no one can replace you.”

  His words had made me wish I’d tossed the ball around with them, but I didn’t want Jason to see me as just one of the guys. If one of his teammates asked about me, I didn’t want his recommendation to be, “She has a great arm.”

  “Is Mac working?” I asked.

  “No, he’s still looking for something, although I get the impression working isn’t high on his priority list. He’s all about the baseball.”

  “Kinda like us, huh?”

  Bird grinned. “Yeah.”

  “Do you think guys prefer girls who aren’t?”

  She looked at me. “Why would they?”

  “I don’t know. I just…”

  “Want a boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, some sort of validation that it’s okay I’m not a beauty queen.”

  “Tiffany doesn’t have a boyfriend, either.”

  “No, but a lot of guys hang around her. She had a date to the prom.”

  She had been crowned prom queen, actually.

  “She doesn’t seem real to me,” Bird said. “You, on the other hand, are very real.” She pressed up against my shoulder, pointed toward the field. “You know, they call third base the ‘hot corner.’ I think our third baseman might be the reason.”

  She was right. We had more important things to discuss than my sister. We had guys to rank, score, and rate.

  “I never realized what a busy schedule they have, with games, practice, and work,” I said. “We need some real face time with these guys, but I don’t know when we’re going to get it.”

  We got it a lot sooner than we’d expected. When the coach had yelled that practice was over, Mac had removed his catcher’s mask, walked to the backstop, grinned at Bird and me (at least I think the grin was for me, too), and said, “Some of us are going out for pizza. Why don’t you come?”

  So, Bird and I found ourselves sharing a table and pitchers of root beer with fifteen guys. How cool was that?

  I could picture the field during practice and exactly where each guy had been positioned. So I knew the blond on my right was the shortstop and the dark-haired guy on my left played third base. Thanks to the roster I’d almost completely memorized, I knew most of the guys’ names, too. Shortstop was Chase, the third baseman was Alan.

  In baseball, the catcher is also known as the field general, and it was like Mac was in charge here, too. As t
he guys had been pulling tables together, he’d yelled, “Bird’s with me, Dani’s with Jason!” and he’d pointed fingers at us—like a flight attendant directing passengers’ attention to the emergency exit doors—so the guys would know who was who. Of course, he didn’t mean like boyfriend–girlfriend. He was referring to our families hosting them.

  I wasn’t sure how he knew I was with Jason. Maybe Jason had said something on the field or maybe Bird had told him all about me last night. It really didn’t matter. I was now official. My first time being included with the Ragland Rattlers.

  Bird had managed to get close to Brandon and was down at the other end of the table sitting between him and Jason. She’d tried to arrange it so we were sitting together, but fifteen thirsty and hungry guys jostling for chairs didn’t exactly lend itself to a calm seating arrangement. Chase and I both dropped into the same chair at the same time, and we both popped back up way too fast, like a kid’s jack-in-the-box.

  Across from us, Ethan, the center fielder, noticed and laughed so loudly I was afraid everyone would know about the awkward moment. He said something to Tyler, the second baseman, that made him grin. Chase yelled for everyone to move down, because we needed room at our end of the table, only there was no place for anyone to move.

  Alan offered me his lap.

  I must have turned beet red, because my face felt really hot. Suddenly Mac pounded his fist on the table. He was sitting at my end, only one seat away. The thundering noise was attracting everyone’s attention, and Mac didn’t look happy.

  “Parker, give the babe your chair and find another one for yourself.”

  I thought maybe Chase would argue. But instead he did what he was told and gave me his chair. Although he didn’t really give up his place. He found another chair somewhere and wedged it between my chair and another one.

  Suddenly I found myself up close and personal with a lot of baseball players around me. I couldn’t have been happier. My plan for spending the summer in proximity to ball players was working.

  “Lucky Bentley and Davis, man,” Tyler said. “They’ve got a house full of babes. My family is total guys, not even a wife around.”