Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,75

to the baseball field afterward. I really, really want to kiss you.

In all those times, I could still imagine the blue hue of his eyes, the intensity of his gaze, the curve of his mouth.

Throughout all of it, Edith stayed silent, letting me cling to her like a child holding onto her mother. Saying everything out loud, hearing the words and hearing the history through Walsh and me in these past weeks, everything became real. Those quiet touches, looks, jokes. It was like speaking the words made our story real, even if the story was only fake. Even if I was the only one who actually felt anything real.

“It’s not real,” I told her, “but I want it to be. Is that bad?”

She threaded her small fingers through my hair, gently twisting the red strands around. “What does Walsh want?”

“I haven’t talked to him. Not about my…feelings.” Gosh, I couldn’t even imagine. Couldn’t imagine being so brave to even mention it to him.

“Have you told him about your article?”

I picked at my pom-poms. My silence was answer enough for her.

“Sophia,” Edith said slowly, sounding the word out. “If you like Walsh—truly, deeply like him—you can’t use him for information for your article. You have to stop.”

I knew that she was right. The dread and guilt that lived in my stomach every single time Walsh and I grew closer was really my subconscious telling me the truth, too. But it was too late now. There was no time to write something else. Today marked exactly one week until the article was due to Mrs. Gao, and on my calendar, the date was labeled “Do or Die.”

Dramatic, I know. But I had no other ideas. Nothing.

I shifted next to her, staring up at my ceiling. We were quiet for a moment, the hum of the central air the only sound. “What if he doesn’t like me back?”

She snorted. “Now you’re sounding like a high school girl. Not trying to dig up secrets, not so focused on academics. A typical girl pining over a guy. I love it.”

I swatted at her, unable to keep away a small smile. “Maybe I just need to pick a day and tell him. After their championship game.”

“Procrastinator.”

“No, think about it. I don’t want him stressing about it and losing, right?” Yeah, that’s a good excuse. Great job, Sophia.

Edith looked skeptical but chuckled after a moment. “You’re a chicken. But fine, you wait. In the meantime, you need to stop the article.”

She was right. I totally was a chicken. Too much of a chicken to tell her that the article was already finished, written on my notebook and waiting to be transferred onto my computer. Too chicken to tell her that I didn’t have any other choice.

Too chicken to tell her, too chicken to tell Walsh.

And that rock in my stomach was never going to go away.

Chapter Twenty

Wednesday morning, I decided to go for a walk. None of my dogs needed the extra exercise, but I figured I could just take the time to just think. However, the humidity clung to me like a second skin. The mid-July breeze made my skin feel sticky, pulling at the hair from my ponytail and making it stick to the back of my neck. It was hot. Like, get-me-a-popsicle-so-I-can-stick-it-down-my-shirt hot. I was about to collapse from heatstroke.

Monday night, after Dad came home to find Mom on the couch, things were…strange. Beyond strange. He’d made us dinner even though it was Mom’s night to cook. When I came down to get my plate, I found them cuddled up on the couch together, Dad smoothing his hand down Mom’s back, brushing his fingers along her hairline. Seeing them like that together startled me, but it was even weirder when I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them cuddle.

The general store came into view, and I made a beeline for it. The grocery store was a beautiful beacon of hope—hope of water bottles. As the electric doors slid open, a burst of beautiful, blessed air-conditioned air hit me, instantly chilling the sweat dampening my skin. The water bottles were a beacon of relief in the back, and I immediately made my way to them. I took the candy aisle on the way to the register and ended up plucking a caramel crunch bar from the shelf.

I set both items onto the counter, fishing for the money in my pocket.

“Hey, Sophia.”

My eyes lifted at the sound of my name, surprised. Scott came around the