Remember those days where the hardest decision you’d ever make is what toppings to put on your ice cream, the biggest goal you had was to be good all day so your parents would buy you a toy, the worst rumor you’ve ever heard is that a boy kissed a girl on the playground, the toughest math problem was to multiply one hundred by three, and humiliation was only a word that didn’t even seem to exist in your own world?

As a kid, confidence was my best trait. I was this big flirt who knew exactly what to say to get a boy’s attention, but I didn’t even know that was flirting. It also seemed liked anyone and everyone in my class liked speaking to me. I found it funny because I would be playing Handball with my friends and someone whom I’ve never spoken to before would walk over and talk to me. They’d know my name and everything, and they’d speak to me as if we’ve hung out before. I didn’t mind though; I just liked that I always had someone to speak to. I wound up making lots of friends around that time because I was such a social butterfly.

What happened to me?

“No, no, no, no, no,” I whined and stomped my foot. Hayden and I had literally just arrived at the school and my bag has already broken. A small hole in the bottom of the messenger bag had suddenly grown into a bottomless pit. I knew I shouldn’t have used the same bag that I’ve been using for the last three years. Yes, I’m so smart. I know.

“Really?” Hayden laughed and looked down at my feet where all of my stuff had fallen. Papers, folders, notebooks, pencils, and an eraser were all scattered around the concrete ground in the middle of the campus. “On the first day of school? I think that’s a new record.”

As you can tell, growing up has complicated things for me. I’m not the same self-assured child I once was. I am now a senior in high school and the biggest mess you’ll ever meet. Almost every day, I embarrass myself with something like this, or I put myself in an awkward situation. I also have no idea how to flirt anymore. In fact, I’ve never had a boyfriend or a first kiss within my seventeen years of life. In addition to that, I know a lot of people, but they usually just say “hi” to me as they pass by in the halls. I’d be surprised if they even remembered my name. I may have been a popular child, but now I only have one true friend: Hayden Lockhart.

Hayden is the one person who’s seen me grow from a leader to someone who hangs out in the back of the pack. She’s been my best friend since first grade, and like me, she has become an outcast. The two of us were inseparable and unstoppable as kids, taking charge of the playground and being well-liked, but I suppose things like that don’t last forever.

“Here, let me help you,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say. I watched as a guy knelt down to collect my things from the ground which is something I should probably give him a hand with rather than standing here like an idiot. I got down on my knees and helped him gather up my things, piling everything on my arm as neat as I could.

“Thanks,” I smiled at him after we managed to pick everything up. “No thanks for you,” I glared at Hayden who still is giggling about my situation as she fiddled with her blood orange colored hair between her fingers. She just stuck her tongue out at me and rolled her eyes. Typical Hayden.

The short Asian kid with a charming smile held his hand out to shake mine, “I’m Jon Jon.” It took me a minute to even respond to him because I was trying to figure out if he just stuttered or something. I could’ve sworn I heard that name come out of his mouth twice. I also am puzzled with the fact that he wants to shake my hand. I’ve never seen anyone my age act so formal like this.

I finally brought myself to politely shake his hand, “Nice to meet you, Jon. I’m Devon.”

“It’s Jon Jon,” he laughed. Okay, so he really did say it twice. Who names their kid Jon Jon?

“Why is your name said twice?”

“Because it’s cooler than just saying it once.”

I tilted my head to the side and let out a soft laugh at his answer. I guess that theory works for him, but if I called myself Devon Devon, people would think I’m crazy. “You are very strange, Jon Jon. What grade are you in?”

“I’m a senior. What about you?”

“Same. Are you really a senior? You share the same height as half of the freshman here,” I teased. I’m surprised by my bold joke since I’m usually fairly shy, but I couldn’t help but say something. It’s not every day that I meet a guy who stands as tall as my shoulders.

I thought he’d roll his eyes or make some sarcastic comment about how he’s heard that joke hundreds of times, but instead, he responded by saying, “I think you and I are going to be really great friends,” with a wide grin spreading across his face.

I nodded, “Well, then I hope we’ll have a class together.”

“I’m with you on that one. See you around, Devon,” he waved, a gesture I returned as he walked away.

“You’re such a loser,” Hayden laughed as she threw her arm around my shoulders.

“I know,” I poked my bottom lip out at her, giving her something else to chuckle about. We began walking towards the building where our first classes are, and I made sure to throw away that damn bag along the way.

---

I like to think of our campus as a college campus. I mean, there’s so many buildings and our stadium is huge. There’s three two-story buildings, connected to each other by stairways, which are filled with classrooms. Then there’s a building that holds the drama room, the band room, the choir room, and the theater. There’s also a United Student Body room and a Library in the same building. There’s also the Administration office which holds other staff offices, the nurse’s office, and a quiet room for students to research colleges. Across from that building is the fancy cafeteria filled with tables, booths, and even a tall bar-like table. Then there’s our big gym, little gym, dance room, weight room, wrestling room, and locker rooms that are in yet another fucking building. Lastly, we have our stadium, baseball fields, soccer fields, track activities, and softball fields outdoors. My point is, there’s a lot of walking involved in moving from class to class, so it’s a college campus to me.

I find our schooling system kind of confusing. We have what is known as Block Scheduling which means we have fewer classes a day rather than having all seven of them in one day. The first day (AKA A Day) has the class periods 1, 3, 5, and 7. The next day (AKA B Day) has the class periods 2, 4, 6, and 7. We have seventh period every day, but it’s a shorter class than all the others by about forty minutes. For me, I don’t have a seventh period because once you’re a senior, you have the ability to have early release. No more staying at school all day. Yay!

Today is an A Day, so I have my American Sign Language class, Economy class, and I’m a teacher’s assistant for a class called Study Skills. Three classes sounds like a short day, doesn’t it? Too bad each class feels like it’s moving in slow motion. Well, except ASL. That class is always so much fun between the joking around and the incredibly easygoing teacher. It’s effortless to make friends in that class, but they’re only the type of people that will thoughtfully wave to me and hardly acknowledge my existence in the hallway.

After my Economy class and talking about stock exchange with the teacher, I headed towards the quad area that rests outdoors and in the center of all of the buildings on campus. This is where Hayden and I eat lunch since the cafeteria fills up fast, and we’re too lazy to race others for a booth or a table. Lucky for us, there are two buildings out here that we can stand in line and get food from. The small square buildings sit on either side of the quad and have one line of students standing in front of each of the two windows to buy their lunch.

I walked over to the usual one Hayden and I go to, finding her already waiting in the back of the line as she spoke to a tall muscular guy. Me, being the shy person I am, I just walked over to Hayden’s side and stared down at my teal Vans. They are surprisingly still clean after having worn them almost every day during the summer. Then again, I didn’t do too much over the summer.

“Tingley,” Hayden chirped and threw her arm around my shoulders, a gesture she seems to always do. “I’d like you to meet my new friend, Tate. Tate, meet my best friend Devon.”

I lifted my head up just in time to find him giving me a light wave as he spoke with his deep voice, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” I smiled shyly. Great, I’m even more timid seeming as this guy is really attractive. His dirty blonde hair is somewhat short except for his bangs which are gelled up into a triangular quiff. Every feature about him just screams the word “large.” I’m not joking. He has full plump lips, a wide nose, big eyes, and his head is pretty sizable as well. His massive head fits well with his sculptured body though. His shirt with the sleeves cut off display his hefty muscles that are so big, I swear they have muscles as well. Good God, does he do steroids or something?

My eyes trailed back to his face where I happened to notice the shade of his pale blue eyes are almost a grey color as they gaze into mine.

Wait. Holy eye contact.

I had to quickly tear my eyes away from his and stare at my pile of school supplies I’m still carrying around to try and hide the fact that I’m blushing.

I heard him chuckle before he spoke again, “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. See you in class Friday, Hayden.”

“Definitely,” I could practically hear her smile.

“I hope to see you around too, Devon.” What? He would?

I looked back towards him to find his full white smile beaming at me. I guess he’s actually serious. “Yeah, maybe,” I managed to spit the words out through my nervousness. He gave us a small nod and a wave before walking away.

“What the hell was that?” Hayden removed her arm from me to get her wallet out of her black backpack.

I shrugged, “I have no idea what just happened. How’d you meet him anyways?”

We took a few steps up in line as she answered my question, “We had last period together: cooking class. Our teacher gave us assigned seats and a syllabus, and then he gave us the rest of the class to talk. Tate sits by me, so we just starting talking.” She abruptly turned towards me with a devilish grin. “I am telling you right now that he’s perfect for you.”

I groaned and rolled my eyes as I shifted my weight, “Not this matchmaking bullshit again. Last time you did this, you tried to set me up with a gay guy.”

“I can promise you Tate’s not gay. Well,” she thought about it for a minute, making me roll my eyes yet again. She finally nodded her head and said, “Yeah, he’s not gay. He’s your type too. You said you like blondes and brunettes, and he’s blonde, so that’s a point for him. Then, you said you like pretty eyes, and his are freaking gorgeous. You said you liked the athletic guys, and guess what? He was the quarterback last year.”

“Oh, so basically he’s a guy that will have no interest in me,” I pointed out with a fake-ass smile. Football players at our school often hang out in the popular crowd. That particular clique will be polite towards anyone to keep them on their good sides, but that doesn’t mean they even remotely care about us. This is why Hayden and I just don’t hang out in cliques: we aren’t fake.

She smirked, “Well, he obviously noticed you. You two were checking each other out right in front of me. It was quite a show.”

I lightly shoved her and laughed, “Shut up.”

---

After lunch was over, it was time for my last class of the day, Teacher’s Assistant in Study Skills. I met the teacher for that class, Mrs. Cross, when she was the high school softball coach. I played on her team both freshman and sophomore year (the first two years of high school). I hated high school softball because (a) softball girls here have a bad reputation of being whores, (b) there is way too much working out involved, and (c) there was so much drama. I got yelled at by teammate for not picking up a ball that she missed. It’s not my fault she shouldn’t play sports.

Once junior year (the third year of high school) came around, I decided to stick with playing softball outside of school. All of the girls in the league are way nicer and less dramatic, the most working out we do is running two laps around the bases, and the coaches just encourage us to do better rather than scolding at us for losing the game and announcing our every flaw.

Mrs. Cross was actually a really nice coach. If we lost, she’d just giggle and clap her hands to congratulate us for even trying. She always stayed upbeat about everything and made sure every girl had a smile (or forced smile) on their faces. Her assistant coach was the one who’d go all crazy and do all of the yelling since Mrs. Cross was just too damn nice to even point out what we were doing wrong. I wish we would’ve had a coach that was balanced out. We don’t need to be scolded about being disappointments to our coach, but we do need guidance.

Anyways, Mrs. Cross and I kept in contact after I had decided to quit playing for the school. She’s convinced I quit because she’s not coaching anymore, but that’s because I was too nice to start ranting about the bitches on the team. When Mrs. Cross started talking to me about the classes she teaches, Study Skills and Math, I found myself wondering what Study Skills was. I had never heard of such a class.

Turns out it’s a class that’s like study hall for students who really need it. I’m not talking about Special Education kids or anything. Nope. These students could be in any one of my classes, and I wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference from them and any other student in the room because they’re just like me. They just need a little help, and a push in the right direction.

There are many reasons for students to end up needing this class: low reading levels, poor test-taking skills, test-taking anxieties, poor study skills, personal crises, poor listening skills, weak note-taking skills, health issues, and some even have “disabilities” as people call them. I wouldn’t necessarily categorize a minor hearing loss, a stutter, and ADHD as a disability. These students are just like the rest of us, they just need a little more time to do their work, and Study Skills is exactly where they get that extra time.

Since it’s a class that Mrs. Cross doesn’t have to lecture or anything, she figured it’d be easier if I was a TA in there. I have no problem with it, but I already know I won’t know anybody in there, so I’m nervous.

I finally found the door to her classroom which is oddly located outside and on the side of the building. I’ve never even noticed this room before. Mrs. Cross isn’t here yet, so we are all standing outside of the locked room as we wait for her. I noticed her students inspecting me, scanning me from head to toe, as I leant against the wall. Mrs. Cross said they’ve all been her students since freshmen year, so they probably think I’m lost or something, but none of them spoke to me. I felt strangely out of place and awkward.

“Hello everyone,” Mrs. Cross’s cheery voice and clacking heels brought me back to reality. “Sorry I’m late. I was showing a new student around. He’ll actually be coming to our classroom shortly,” she explained as she unlocked the door for us and held it open. One-by-one, each student piled into the classroom as they loudly conversed with each other.

I stopped in the doorway and exhaled my nerves before giving my best smile to the teacher, “Hey Mrs. Cross. Did you have a good summer?”

“Hello, Devon,” she cheered and pulled me in for a hug. When she pulled away, she gently gripped my shoulders as she spoke some more. “My summer was really good. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you’re helping me out in this class. I won’t have a lot of work for you to do though. The most you’ll probably be doing is escorting the students’ work to their teachers for them.”

“Well, you know me, Miss Lazy,” I dramatically flicked my bleach blonde hair off of my shoulder. “So less work is fine by me,” I shrugged.

She giggled her famous giggle which instantly had me smiling wider. The woman is in her mid-thirties, and I find myself completely fascinated by her unique sounding laugh. The noise is pretty much a mix between a cackle and an innocent little girl’s giggle. I will never grow tired of hearing that sound. “I’m glad,” she nodded. “There’s a long desk by mine on the other end of the classroom that’s yours to use. I made sure to get you one of those office chairs that have wheels like mine.”

“Really?”

“Actually, they left an extra in the room, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“You’re definitely my favorite teacher so far,” I admitted, receiving a cocky grin from her. “So far,” I reminded her as I sternly pointed my finger at her. This has been our relationship for quite some time. I can talk to Mrs. Cross just as I’d talk to any of my fellow peers, and that’s one of the things I really like about her.

I finally walked into the room and made my way over to my desk. Sure enough, I have my own rolling chair, just like Mrs. Cross, but mine’s not as fancy. Hers is a black leather cushioned seat with armrests and a tall backing, and mine just has a thin black cushion and a small backing for support. Not that I’m complaining, really. At least I can spin in circles on this thing when I’m bored, or if I’m too lazy to walk around the room, I can roll myself around the room.

I placed my pile of shit that I haven’t even used all day onto the desk and sat down in my seat. I enjoy the fact that I have big windows in front of my desk where I have a view of half of the campus and the clear blue sky. I’m also thankful that my desk faces away from the class, preventing me from being able to see the stares I’m most likely still receiving. Mrs. Cross’s desk is next to mine, but hers is facing the other direction which makes sense. Now that I look at her desk, I feel like mine is out of place, just as I am.

“Okay everybody, have a seat,” Mrs. Cross instructed. I spun my chair around and faced the class for the first time since I’ve been in here. Mrs. Cross walked over to her desk and dropped her keys in a drawer after pulling out a stack of papers from it. “Since I know you guys don’t ever get your own agendas and the school hasn’t provided you with any yet, I took the liberty of making you some,” she held the stack up for the whole class to see.

“Isn’t there any other way you can grade us?” a red-headed boy grinned. “Like, ‘Hey, he showed up to class. Automatic A.’”

She giggled and shook her head as she began passing around the sheets of paper to each student. “Very funny, Ben, but the district requires that I grade you this way.”

“Who’s that chick over there?” I noticed a chocolate skinned boy pointing towards me with a smile on his face.

“That chick, is Devon,” she put an emphasis on the word “chick” and slightly rolled her eyes at the student. “She is the TA for this class. I expect you all to be nice to her.”

“Hi Devon.”

“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

Various people in the class gave me small nods or waves. I was surprised by how they actually seemed to care that I was here, and not in a bad way. It’s just that I’m used to being the outcast in every class that sits alone and speaks to no one. In here, it’s different. It seems as if every student is good friends by the way they all pick on each other and speak to one another. It’s really cool.

“Hey,” my voice comes out somewhat shaky. Why am I such a shy freak?

Just then, the door creaks open and a head of curls poke in. Wait. I know those curls. I know that face.

“Glad to see you found the room,” Mrs. Cross smiled and waved him over.

The tall figure quietly shut the door behind him and took a few strides across the classroom until he was standing by the teacher’s side. Yeah, I definitely recognize him, he just seems to have grown twice his size. I mean, damn. Mrs. Cross looks so small compared to him, only standing as tall as his chest, and she’s taller than me. I’d probably look like a shrimp next to him. Geez.

“Class, this is Harry,” she pointed to him with her hands. “He just transferred here from a different high school.” They all give him the same warm hellos that I received, and he replies back with a barely noticeable nod of the head. I watched as she whispered something to him before turning his body towards my direction and giving him a light push.

Wait. He’s coming over here. I instantly freak out and turn around so I’m looking out the window. Why the hell did I do that? It’s not like it was bad that I was looking over at him since Mrs. Cross was introducing him, but I just had to turn around in an anxious manor. Way to fucking go, Devon.

I was surprised to find a chair being placed next to me, and I turned my head to watch Harry take a seat next to me.

“Oh, are you TA too?” I worked up the courage to ask him.

“Um, no.” He shot me a half smile before focusing his emerald green eyes on my desk. Oh.

Well, I’ve officially ran out of things to say now.

I remember Harry from middle school. We never had any classes together, but I’d see him around campus all the time. He hung out with this group of British people to which I heard one of them is Irish. I didn’t pay any attention to his friends though. I would only glance at him and his curls.

He looks so different now than he did then. He used to be chubby back then; well, compared to now he seemed chubby. Now, he has nicely toned muscles and pecks that are clearly visible due to his tight t-shirt. Of course, they are no match to Tate’s enormous biceps and bulging pecks, but they’re just as attractive. His arm is covered in all sorts of tattoos from a ship to a rose to a lock. None of them even seem to have to do with the others. His messy curls used to be so much shorter than they are now. You can tell his hair is long because he has to gel his bangs back so they’re out of his face. There’s so much gel in his bangs that they’re not even curly. He looks so good, not that he ever looked bad.

I definitely never thought anything bad of him. In fact, I had this huge crush on him, but it only lasted for like a month. He didn’t know me, so that’s one reason. Another explanation is that Harry had all of these girls swooning over him, but he paid no mind to them. He just didn’t seem like the type to date. I doubted he’d ever go for a girl like me anyways.

Even today, I doubt any guy would go for a girl like me.

“What’s with the stack there?” his green eyes meet mine as his long finger points at all of my school supplies. Shit, he probably just noticed I was staring at him. Subtle.

I chuckled nervously and pushed a few strands of hair out of my face. “I uh, probably should’ve bought a new bag.”

“It broke?” So he doesn't seem to be fazed by my gawking at him, so maybe he didn't notice?

“More like demolished,” I snorted. “Right when I walked into school.” Since I deal with embarrassment constantly, I never really have a problem admitting the stories to people. I normally just laugh off the humiliating incident and store it in my memory to share later on.

He raised a brow, “So you’ve been carrying that around all day?” I nodded and he leaned back in his seat to let out a short laugh. “Why do you have so much shit anyways? It’s only the first day. It’s not like we do work.”

I jokingly pouted and said, “I just wanted to be prepared,” to which he just smirked at me and called me a nerd.

I noticed he didn’t bring anything to school. I found myself wanting to ask him why he wouldn’t at least have a notebook and a pencil, but that’d only prove his point for calling me a nerd, and I won’t give him that satisfaction. I’ve ran out of things to say again though…

Luckily, I didn’t have to say a word since Mrs. Cross was now knelt down between us. “Well, I’m glad to see you two have met,” she said as she placed a sheet of paper on the desk. I think it’s the agenda she just set in front of us.

“Oh, we’ve already met before,” Harry stated casually as he placed his hands behind his head and leaned further back into his chair.

We have?

“Well, we haven’t met, but I know who she is,” he clarifies.

He does?

Mrs. Cross gazed at me with a puzzled look, and even though I am just as confused as she is by Harry’s words, I still gave her a nod to confirm he’s correct. I knew of him, I just didn’t realize he knew who I was too.

“We went to the same middle school,” I explained.

“Well, I’m glad you two already have a friendly face in here then,” Mrs. Cross beamed. “Okay, so I had Harry come over here so I can explain the agenda to both of you.” She points to the piece of paper which has each day of the week separated in wide boxes going down the page, “Whenever you get a homework assignment, you’ll need to write what it is, when it’s due, and what class it’s for in the box of the day it was assigned. When you don’t have homework for that class, just write down N/A. At the beginning of each week, Devon will be grading what you’ve written in your agenda, and I’ll be handing out new ones.”

“I will?”

She giggled, “Yes Devon, you will. I think I’ll also have you act as a tutor in this class.”

I shot her a look of horror, “What? A tutor? But-“

“You had all A’s and B’s last year,” she interrupted me. “It shouldn’t be too much, right?”

“Except I failed Chemistry with a damn C,” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t understand anything I’m doing in that class.”

She arched a brow at me, “Didn’t you get a D+?”

I threw my hands up in the air, “Isn’t that close enough? I mean, that’s practically a C.”

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest while shooting me an amused grin, “I don’t think ‘close enough’ will get you anywhere.”

While I was mocking his motions and mouthing the words he had just said with a glare on my face, Mrs. Cross said, “Okay, so you can tutor them with whatever you know, and I’ll help you with Chemistry since I’m guessing you are having to retake it.”

“Yes,” I muttered which had Harry snickering. Fucking Bastard.

Mrs. Cross nodded and placed her hands together to create a soft clapping noise, “So then it’s settled. Since I won’t ever really have much for you to do, you’re in charge of grading the agendas and you’ll help the other students out when they need it.”

“So much for having less work,” I stuck my tongue out at Mrs. Cross, my actions seeming to amuse Harry. “Okay, so, I have a question. How exactly do I grade their agendas?”

“There’s five days a week, so just take a sheet of paper, jot down how many days they filled out in their agendas, write their names next to their grade, and then hand it over to me.” I nodded. “Okay, well,” Mrs. Cross raised her voice a bit, so the class could hear her as she stood up to face them. I decided to spin my chair around so I could see the class too, ignoring the fact that Harry is making faces at me for spinning the chair a few too many times. “Since you guys obviously don’t have work, I’m going to put a movie in.”

“Human Centipede?” A guy with his long black hair pushed back into a beanie suggests. I noticed he has one eyebrow piercing and two somewhat small gages in his ears.

Don’t gages hurt or something? I feel like ears being stretched into an abnormal size would hurt so fucking bad, and that eyebrow piercing, that had to have hurt as well. I’ve taken a softball to a ribcage, but I’m still too much of a wuss to get a simple piercing. Then again, even if I wanted a piercing, my father would not approve of such a thing. My mother doesn’t care because she knows it’s my body, not hers, but she’d tell me to ask my dad for permission. This is how things went when I asked if I could bleach my hair. Sometimes their loyalty to each other is really irritating. Eventually, I just bleached my hair anyways. Of course, Dad was mad, but he got over it.

“No!” a girl who sat next to the gaged boy slapped his chest. She shook her head frantically, making her long curly brown hair swing with it. “Put in Finding Nemo or something. Don’t listen to him.”

“I’m putting in an educational movie because I’m a teacher, and that’s what I do,” Mrs. Cross smirked, a small giggle falling from her lips as she tried stifling it back. Groans are heard from the students as the teacher begins searching for a movie, and she jokingly hushes them.

“So,” Harry shoots me a smug look as he props his elbows up onto his knees and intertwines his fingers together.

“So?” I question.

“Since we’re friends, you’ll be giving me all A’s, right?”

This made me laugh. Friends? Just because we know of each other doesn’t make us friends. Even if we were friends, I wouldn’t give him more points than he deserves.

I halted my laughter and shot him a smug look of my own, “No.”

“Well then,” he scoffed playfully. He stood up from his seat and gripped the back of his chair as he shrugged his shoulders. “I had to try. See you around, Tingley.” With that, he grabbed his chair and took it over to a desk by some of the other students and sat down to chat with them.

He knows my last name too? I don’t know whether to feel horrified or flattered by that thought. Why would I be horrified? Middle school was my awkward stage: the stage where I had short messy hair with flat bangs, braces, glasses, and wore ugly out of style clothing that my mother would buy for me. Why would he pay any attention to that?

Then again, who’d pay attention to me now?

---

After spending the class just staring out the window rather than watching the movie, school was finally over. I took my school identification card out of my pocket and brought it with me to the front gate of the school to show the staff that I have early release. There’s a printed “7” on my card that they look for as they let us walk off of the campus.

I walked over to my usual space in the parking lot to find Hayden already leaning on my 2014 Rubicon Jeep Wrangler. I got this baby customized in the color red and with a soft top, so I have the ability to take the roof down when I want, which is almost all the time.

The reason I have a car even though I’m jobless is because my parents promised me a car if I got good grades and I passed my driver’s test on the first try. Of course, at the time, they thought I was passing Chemistry. They almost took my car away for that reason alone, but my brother wound up saving my ass by bringing up how they still got him a car after they caught him smoking a blunt. My brother and I tend to do that a lot: cover for each other. It's not the same anymore since he's moved out of the house.

“Are you busy today?” Hayden asks me as she climbs into the passenger seat of my car after I’ve unlocked it. She threw her backpack on the back seat, and I placed my pile of crap next to her bag.

Once I got in the car, buckled my seatbelt and started it, I finally answered her question, “Yeah. I have my first softball practice. Why?”

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to eat dinner with me and Madre.” Hayden and I call each other’s moms our own since we’ve been friends for about eleven years, so her mom is my family just as much as my family is hers as well.

“Afterwards?” I suggested. I watched her nod from the corner of my eye, still keeping my focus on getting out of this crowded parking lot.

“Hey, I didn’t know you had early release,” I heard her say. I slightly eyed her and was about to ask her if she’s mental or something since I’m sitting right next to her and we’re leaving, but I instead found her leaning out of her now opened window, speaking to somebody as my car slowly moves behind the traffic.

“Well, I actually have football for seventh period,” a deep male voice boomed, seemingly familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “I just needed to grab some gear from my car, so I had to get a pass for it.”

“That’s cool. You know what else is cool? Devon here plays a sport too. She plays softball.”

“Really?” he dragged the word in a seemingly impressed tone. Once the traffic came to a complete stop, I turned my head in search for the owner of the voice, and what do you know? It’s Tate. I shouldn’t be so surprised since Hayden’s obviously trying to get me points from him. “What position do you play?”

His interest actually gave me enough confidence to say, “I play all positions except catcher. The coach usually just puts me where they need me most.” I’ve tried catching before and I sucked at it. Also, wearing that gear is like wearing heavy clothes while sitting in a sauna which is not the best feeling in the world, in my opinion.

“You pitch too?” he raised his brows and I nodded. “You’re a very important player then, huh? I should go over to the softball fields and watch you play one of these days,” he nodded his head towards the campus. Why would he even want to come watch one of my games? He doesn’t really know me.

I let out a nervous laugh, “Well, I don’t play for the school.”

“Even better.”

---

After dropping Hayden off at her place, which is just houses down the hill from mine, I went home and changed into my softball gear. I put on a t-shirt that I don’t care for, my knee-high softball socks, black softball pants, and my brand new cleats. Since my cleats haven’t been used yet, I figured I could walk around the house in them to help break them in, and I didn’t have to worry about trailing dirt around. Lastly, I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and placed a thin headband on to keep any loose strands out of my face.

Since I had an hour to kill before practice, I ate a small snack of the Fiber One Gummies that my mom buys for herself but are too good not to steal, and I watched the recorded episode of our favorite soap opera, Days of Our Lives. There’s so much unbelievable drama happening on this show that I’ve found myself addicted to since there’s absolutely no excitement in my life. I need more friends.

Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was time to leave. I got into the car after throwing my softball equipment into the back, and I typed the address that my coach had texted the team into my phone’s navigation system.

As I drove there, the car reminded me of my chat with Tate and Hayden earlier. I found myself wondering about what Tate meant by “Even better.” Does he not like the softball girls at our school either? Or maybe he just doesn’t want his friends to know he’s going to some loser’s game. The second thought is the one I find more believable. I don’t mind though. If an attractive buff guy wants to sit at my games without telling his friends, I’d be okay with it because I’d have an attractive buff cheerleader in the stands. Although, that’d probably make me really nervous.

“You have arrived at your destination,” my phone’s British male monotone voice announced.

Yes, I changed its language to British, but honestly, who doesn’t like listening to such an adorable accent? He’s so cheerful and happy sounding, except when he’s acting as my GPS, which is when he sounds like he’s bored of his job. I mostly changed his voice so I could hear him say the word “water” but he kept pulling up search engines on “Seawater,” “Say Wyatt,” and “Say wider.” It turns out, you have to speak to him in a British accent for him to understand you. I finally said, “Say the word water,” in my best British accent, and he responded with “I’d rather just listen.” I had never been so disappointed in my life.

I think Alfie has this address wrong (Yes, I gave my phone a British name). I pulled into the parking lot of a place called “Knead for Pizza” (they are so punny) and put my car in park, so I could double checked the address from the text, but it’s the same as the one on the building. Maybe we’re just meeting here first?

Who am I kidding? The only times coaches bring us to a pizza place in this league is so we can have a meeting and eat.

I looked down at my phone and cursed at myself once I reread the coach’s text:

We’re having a team meeting to introduce ourselves to each other and discuss practices. I hope you can make it, and be sure not to eat anything beforehand. I’ll be wearing a large baseball cap so that those of you who don’t know me can find me.

Well fuck. This is what I get for just skimming through the message. I just saw the word “practices” and assumed we had practice. Now, I’m going to walk in there with my softball outfit on and the girls are going think I’m dumb or something. Embarrassing moment number two of the day. Fantastic.

I sighed and hopped out of my car, not bothering to grab my softball equipment, and locked the doors behind me with a click of a button on my key. As I entered the punny pizza place, I scanned my eyes around the room in search of my team. I don’t even know what my coach looks like, but when I spotted the large baseball-shaped hat on a man’s head, I knew it was him. He literally wore a hat that’s a gigantic foam baseball that sits on a green brim. Well, at least I know he’s going to be a fun coach.

I shyly walked over to him and asked, “Are you Coach Adam?”

He grinned widely, “Yes I am, and you’re Devon Tingley. It was hard to draft you, you know? I had to battle a few coaches for you.”

“Really?”

He nodded, “Of course. You’re pretty well known for your positive attitude and because you’re a utility player (which is the softball/baseball term for a player who can play many positions).”

“Well, I honestly think there’s no point in moping when we’re losing. It’ll just effect our playing,” I shrugged like it was an obvious point.

“This is exactly why coaches admire you. We could learn a thing or two from you. Anyways, why don’t you have a seat with the other girls?” he pointed to the table behind me. I looked over my shoulder to find that at least seven girls were already here. Teams in this league are usually filled with twelve girls total, so we’re only missing a few. “We’re going to wait a couple more minutes, in case any others show up.”

I just nodded and made my way over to the empty seat at the table of girls. My eyes scanned my teammates, noticing that some girls look extremely young. The league divides us by age, so there’s a six and under (6U) division, 8U division, 12U division, and an Upper division. Our team is in the Upper division, meaning we can be anywhere from fourteen years old to twenty years old. Luckily for the fourteen year olds, there’s only like three or less twenty year olds that I had spotted at try-outs, so it’s slightly less terrifying to be new in our age level.

We had no idea what coaches we’d get, what color uniforms we’d get, and who’d be on our team due to the blind draft. Coach Adam is a coach I’ve never had before, and so far I like him since he complimented me and the silly hat he’s wearing makes him seem pretty chill.

None of these girls look familiar either, but some of them seemed to know each other. Down the tables, the few younger girls are giggling away and talking about how cool it is to be a high-schooler. On my side of the table, the older girls are excluding themselves from the giddy freshmen and are either staring at the table or playing with their phones.

I decided to take my phone out as well and texted Hayden:


So, I may be able to come over sooner than I thought.


“Why are you wearing practice clothes?” Here we go. I was waiting for someone to point them out.

I looked up to find a stylish clothed girl with wavy brown hair smiling at me, her big brown eyes looking into my baby blue ones. I put my phone down on the table and giggled a little, “I didn’t realize this was a meeting.”

“Aww,” she laughed.

“Things like this happen to me all of the time though, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Oh wait, I know you. You’re the girl who got hit in the ribcage by a ball, like, two year ago, right?”

“That’s me. I’m Devon. Am I hearing a British accent in your voice?” I only asked her this because her accent is strikingly similar to Harry's.

“I’m Eleanor, and yes. I’m originally from London, England.”

I grinned, “That’s really cool. I’m just from here. Lame. What made you move to California?”

“My dad got a job over here after I finished grade seven, so my mum and I had to move with him. I like it here though. It’s so sunny and nice.”

“Are you kidding? It’s too hot here. I’d give anything to live in a cold place.”

“London would be a great place for you then,” she laughed and I nodded in agreement.

For a while, we talked a little bit more about our families and how long we’ve been playing softball for. She is an only child which I thought must be nice, but she says it can be kind of lonely. She also has apparently only played softball since she’s moved here, so she feels like she’s not very good. Coach Adam had told her otherwise, which surprised her, but it still didn’t make her feel any different about her skills.

“Pizza’s here,” Coach beamed as he set trays of pepperoni and cheese pizza onto our table. I watched as all of the girls immediately dug in, including Eleanor.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” she pointed her polka dotted slice of pizza towards the tray.

I shook my head, “Nah. I promised my friend I’d eat at her place.” Which is half the truth. The other reason for me not eating it is that I can’t eat pizza because I’m gluten intolerant. I don’t like telling people that because then they want to know the details of how sick I get, and I’d rather not speak of that.

---

After the coach discussed with us about our practices being on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays at the sports park that is just a couple of streets away from mine, we had to discuss our team color and name. He had picked out navy blue for our team color, and told us we were allowed to choose the team name. One of the younger girls said we should be called the Benchwarmers, but another girl told her that sounds like we suck. Another girl insisted on us being called the Chargers because we are half of the San Diego football team’s colors. We shot that one down pretty quickly as well. When I mentioned the name Blue Ballers, only half of the team understood my joke, and Coach was at a loss for words but had joined in on the scattered laughs anyways. Finally, we settled on the name Power Outage, a name I didn’t really like, but the majority of our team voted for it, so we’re stuck with it.

After the meeting was over, I walked with Eleanor out of the building, and she had praised me for the funny name I wanted our team to be called. She eventually waved me goodbye and walked over to some guy who was leaning against the building. I’m assuming it’s her boyfriend because they intertwined fingers as they walked across the parking lot.

After leaving the pizza place, I was starving. I was so happy to be at Hayden’s house, eating gluten free pasta and playing board games with her mom. Eventually, her mom fell asleep on the couch next to her oxygen tank, so Hayden and I went to her room and talked about our first day of school for a while.

At ten o’clock, I left her house because we have school tomorrow, and I already know that I’m going to be too exhausted for it. Once I walked into my house and kicked off my cleats, I noticed that only a few lights in the house are on which means my parents are home and asleep, so I had to turn them all off on the way to my room.

After showering and brushing my teeth, I found Rodger, our wiener dog, already sprawled across the end of my bed with small snores fleeing his mouth. Yes, our dachshund’s name is Rodger. When we first got Rodger, we were tempted to call him Oscar, naming him after a hotdog brand, but decided Rodger was a more pleasant name for him.

As I laid in my bed with my snoring hotdog, I thought about two people in particular: the boy with pale blue, almost grey, eyes and the boy with emerald green eyes.

It’s embarrassing really. I’m seventeen, and I’ve never had any basic interactions with a boy that’d go farther than speaking to them. I have no idea how to flirt, I have no idea when to make a move, I don’t know how to tell if a guy likes me, and so on.

I try to imagine what it’d be like to tangle my small hands with Harry’s excessively large ones, but I don’t even know what a simple gesture as such feels like. I try to imagine Tate’s buff arm draped around my shoulders, and I started thinking about how his muscle would probably act as a pillow for my head. I don’t even know how to imagine being in a relationship, and it embarrasses me.

It’s not like it matters anyways. These boys will never think of me as more than an awkward teenage girl.

After all, I am only an amateur.

Notes

Did you notice how the cover photo consists of both of the boys' eye colors? ;D

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