Page 29 of One More Chapter
I sigh, deflating like a balloon, melting into the chair behind my desk in our shared classroom. I want this to work outsobadly. Stepping into the role of pseudo-AP and failing would be the final nail in the coffin of my shitstorm year.
“It’s for staff team building,” I gripe. I scrub my hands over my face, then lift the bill of my Red Sox hat up so I can tousle my hair, and turn it backwards on my head. Clasping my hands together, I rest my chin on them, and bat my tired eyes up at her. “Nate and I thought that if we could get everyone together for some food and a little bit of fun before the year starts, maybe it’ll ease a little of the tension in this shitty situation.”
I stare at the white speckled tabletop in front of me, because I can’t manage to look into Pen’s eyes.Shitty situationcould be the chapter title for her year and mine. I don’t realize how much silence has gone by until she breaks it.
“Does ‘Nate and I’ mean that you’re helping out with the AP position?”
“Yeah,” I nod, scrubbing my hand anxiously through my hair again. “Yeah, I uh… have the licensure. Figured I’d step up and do some good.”
She runs her tongue over her teeth, and I can see a million unsaid words passing over her eyes like credits in a movie screen. What I wouldn’t give to know them all.
“Do I have to play?”
I flick my gaze up, and see the tiniest crack in the surface. I’ve tried my bestnotto imagine anything with Penelope. Little signs or signals that she might just be letting me in, or ready to forgive me. I don’t want to—can’t—get my hopes up. Not when it comes to her.
But something is trying to crackle its way through her rock hard exterior. Her brows betray the deadpan of her eyes as they lift, and I can see the strain of her facial muscles as she tries to hold in her scowl. Despite all my best efforts not to read into everything, my eyes light up.
“Everyone has to play to earn their hot dog, but I promise, we won’t stack the teams. It’ll betotallyfair.”
“Seriously?”
“C’mon, PJ, it’ll befun!”
She rolls her eyes, and then her gaze narrows, if that’s even possible.
“If you suddenly find your toothbrush in the toilet, it’ll have that stupid nickname written on the back of it, Anthony Ellis.”
She just threatened to drop my toothbrush in the toilet, and all I got out of the interaction was that she full-named me, and itmayhave made my dick hard.
Suddenly, I have no mission other than to make sure that Penelope Barker has the best wiffle ball game of her life.
twelve
penelope
“Welcome to the first—andhopefullylast—Meadow-River-Ridge-Valley Wiffle Ball Game!”
A few people—including my traitorous group of friends—clap for Ant’s little speech. Okay, includingme.
Sue me. I said I wasmadat him, not that I wasoverhim.
Besides, he looks so excitedly nervous that I can’t help but be excited with him. He stepped up to help Nathan in the AP role, and he already has a little project going. It’s one of the qualities that drew me to him in the first place. He lights up a room, no matter the reason. When Anthony is excited,everyoneis excited.
Except for right now. People are, rightfully, a little grumbly to be playing wiffle ball. He and Nathan called it “Blended-Family Fun.” The second the email was sent, you could feel the culture in the building shift, but not for the reasons our two new fish-out-of-water administrators hoped it would. Everyone was suddenly on the same side, that was for sure—just not on the side of working together. It was more like everyone was pissed that Nathan and Anthony were taking away two hours of their freedom before the school year starts.
So, being the supportive roommate that I am—and, okay fine, after an elbow in the arm from Claire, who is here to support her man—I clap. ForNathan. My old roommate’sboyfriend.Not for Anthony.Neverfor Anthony.
They go around splitting up the teams—Ant and Nathan each a captain—and in the end, I at least get to be on the same team as Aaron and Juliet. I follow them to the side, taking my place at the end of the line to wait for my turn to bat.
“I’m going to need one of you to explain how this works,” I say, crossing my arms as Drake Lawson, one of our sixth grade teachers, hits the little white ball to send it soaring over the furthest person on the field and takes off running. Juliet takes the job of dumbing down the game of baseball for me.
“You get three swings-and-misses,” she says as we shuffle ahead in line. “If you don’t swing, and it isn’t hittable, it’s called a ball.”
I snort. “That’s a dumb name. Itisa ball.”
“C’mon, Ellis! I thought you played college ball!” someone shouts from the front of the line. A Meadow Ridge teacher jogs to the base, and Anthony shakes his head as Juliet takes the plastic bat.
“What just happened?” I ask Aaron as Juliet takes the bat and her place at home plate.