eyes, the density of their anticipation thickening the warm summer air. The sun is starting to set, basking the entire stadium in gold. Behind me, in the outfield, the scoreboard looms menacingly, an irrefutable reminder of the stakes.
HOME: 7
AWAY: 6
Final inning.
Zero outs.
Bases loaded.
I grit my teeth and try to shut out the background noise. Ryan Snyder’s smug presence at first base. Coach’s furrowed brow. My teammates watching from the dugout. The scouts lined up along the fence. My parents’ worried faces in the crowd.
It all fades into a distant hum.
But no matter what I do, I can’t quite eradicate the noise inside my soul. I can’t erase the constant feeling that my life has spiraled so far out of control, I might never get it on track again. It’s the sort of distraction no amount of deep breathing can soothe.
My grip tightens on the ball. My eyes narrow on Chris’ mitt behind home plate. I’m about to throw when, in the hush that’s fallen over the field, I suddenly hear it — a voice, ringing out into the night, clear as the water in the shallows of the cove beyond the boathouse.
“YOU’VE GOT THIS, ARCHER!”
My head snaps up, whipping toward the bleachers. I scan the crowd. It takes a minute, but I find her. Everyone else is sitting down, but she’s on her feet, standing tall in the front row. Her long blonde hair hangs loose around her shoulders. Her legs stretch on for a mile in those skimpy cut-off shorts. And her eyes…
They’re locked on mine.
She’s here.
She came.
Even after I was such an asshole.
Even though I don’t deserve it.
When our gazes meet, a slow smile spreads across her face — one reassuring enough to warm me from the inside out. One that seeps into the marrow of my bones and undercuts every bit of anxiety churning through my system.
“YOU CAN DO THIS!” Jo yells across the distance, not seeming to care that the people around her are turning to stare. I know how much she hates to be the center of attention. But that doesn’t stop her tonight. “SHOW ‘EM WHAT YOU’RE MADE OF, REYES!”
God, I miss her.
She’s standing right there, but I miss her so much I can barely breathe. My throat feels like it’s about to close up. I can’t yell back to her; I manage a nod, so she knows I’m listening.
She nods back, her smile stretching wider. Beside her, the Wadell twins shoot to their feet, two platinum bookends.
“Ah-woooo!” they howl in unison. “Go Archer! Go Wolfpack!”
Before long, the entire Exeter section of the bleachers is cheering. Howling like wolves. The sound swells as everyone joins in. I’m sure my parents are somewhere in the mob, screaming their heads off, but I can’t take my eyes off Jo long enough to look.
“AH-WOOO!” she howls, loud as anyone.
When I turn away to face home plate, it’s with a refreshed sense of purpose. I feel steadier. In control of myself for the first time since Tuesday. My attention hones in on the catcher’s mitt, pinpointing the precise spot where I need the ball to break. Tracing up the leather seams, finding my target.
One solitary stitch.
My grip tightens.
My arm cocks back.
My knee hikes up.
A perfect fastball blasts into Tomlinson’s glove.
“Strike!” the umpire calls.
Then another.
“Strike two!”
One more.
“You’re out!”
The crowd roars.
A smile twists the corners of my lips as the next batter moves into position at the plate.
Time to take back what’s mine.
Chapter Fifteen
JOSEPHINE
After the Wolves win the game, the senior class is ready to celebrate. For good reason: it’s been years since Exeter has had an undefeated season; even longer since we’ve been headed into the playoffs with strong odds favoring a State Championship title. And it’s all because of rockstar pitcher Archer Reyes.
I can’t control the pride that swells my heart nor the stupid smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth as I watch him walk off the field surrounded by his teammates, the crowd roaring his name at top volume. The urge to run to his side is so strong, I have to look away.
Hundreds of shoes clank against the metal bleachers as spectators flood toward the exits. Ophelia and Odette walk behind me, chattering excitedly about the party. I don’t pay much attention; I’m lost in a daze, my thoughts distracted. I can’t stop thinking about the way Archer looked at me during the final inning. The way his slumped shoulders went straight. The way his face lit up when he saw me there,