Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,39

universe knew. I used to think stuff like that was wasted knowledge, useless facts that cluttered up brain space.

But as Walsh and I paddled through the water together, dodging the waves and floating on our backs, I learned his little things.

His favorite color was brick red because that was the color of the truck his dad taught him to swing a bat on. It was an old truck, no engine, didn’t run, and Walsh’s dad took him out to practice his technique on the sides of it.

He had a chef/housekeeper/nanny/therapist—his words, not mine—named Janet, and they sometimes played poker before she left for the day. And according to him, she always kicked his butt.

He only drinks one brand of water, because all of the other brands don’t taste as good.

He box-dyed his golden hair black when he was thirteen, because he knew it would make his mother mad.

Small things, useless knowledge, and with the setting sun falling lower and lower on the horizon, I found that I could’ve been with him for the rest of the day, just to hear him talk.

And though I would’ve thought it’d be hard for me to open up, I told Walsh a bit about myself. I told him how my one passion was, above all else, writing. I told him that I could sit for hours writing. That had been why I joined the school newspaper, because I absolutely loved the craft of it.

“I want to be a journalist,” I had told Walsh decisively, smoothing my wet, auburn hair from my face. “That’s why this article means so much, why this class means so much. It opens so many doors.”

And Walsh had listened to everything I said. The idea that my words meant something to someone was almost jarring. To be heard when I spoke was a rarity for me. My parents didn’t pay attention; Scott never cared. But when I spoke, Walsh watched me the entire time, eyes doing that soft-melty thing that made me look over my shoulder. We’d been far out enough in the bay that even if people were watching, no one would’ve seen the look in his eye.

Had to hand it to that boy—he knew how to smolder.

When we’d been talking about baseball uniforms and helmets, how often the school purchased the team new equipment, he’d let the words slip.

“Ryan’s parents donated some money back in March for the team,” Walsh had said while he looked up at the sky, lips slanted into what almost looked like a frown. “The school’s not really allowed to take direct funding for stuff like that—I mean, yes, it goes into the sport’s fund, but not for a specific team. I don’t know why they allowed that.”

I couldn’t even remember what I’d replied with because my brain was too busy connecting dots. Though the money graph I’d found online meant a lot of gibberish, there was a spike in baseball funding in the beginning of spring.

That’s where it’d come from—Ryan’s parents. What a perfect bullet point to add once I got home.

No sooner than I’d thought that, my insides flinched. This was the point of everything—I’d ride out this fake dating thing with Walsh, and I’d write the article on the baseball team. That was the entire plan.

Then why did I feel so guilty?

The sun was fading fast as Walsh slowed to a stop in front of my house now, his brakes squeaking horribly. Walsh had draped towels over the seats to soak up any water that seeped through our clothes, but we were both mostly dried off now. My hair still was a little damp, dripping water onto my shorts.

When Walsh spoke, I realized that we’d both been quiet for a long time—long enough for me to get used to the silence while looking out the window. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.” I’d left my bedroom light on and could see the outline of Shiba sitting on the windowsill. “Just lost in thought.”

It didn’t look like I was the only one either. The driver’s seat made a creaking noise as Walsh leaned his weight against it, hands slipping from the steering wheel to fall onto his bare knees. The way he slouched made me remember what Jewel told me earlier, saying that he didn’t play tonight. Walsh had said he was tired, and now as we sat in the quiet of his car, the energy seemed like it had been zapped out of him.

“You look exhausted,” I whispered in the quiet, thankful for the