Chapter Ten
Ashton sat at the two-person table, nursing her ice water and ignoring the glares she got from the waitstaff.
She’d gotten the table in case anyone wanted to take a break, but it was obvious they were having too much fun to stop.
In one hour, Razor had transformed a group of players into a group of friends.
They laughed, joked, punched each other playfully.
And when they switched partners, everyone looked excited.
To think the act of competing against each other, revealing personal details about themselves, could trigger such a massive change in demeanor.
Yet the proof was right in front of her.
Even Summer was cracking jokes with Harper at the Whac-A-Mole game.
She was so caught up in the moment, she failed to notice Razor plopping onto the stool next to her until Razor tapped her shoulder.
“Are you done?” Ashton asked.
“Yeah,” Razor said, gasping for air. “I’ve had my fill. Thought I’d keep you company.”
Ashton smiled. “Well, then I’m going to quiz you.”
“Quiz me on what?”
“Your team. This was your idea, and I hope you led by example and learned just as much about them as they did about each other.”
Razor sat up straight and cracked her knuckles. “Ask away. I’m ready.”
Ashton chewed on a piece of ice as she scanned the floor. “Tell me about Sabrina.”
“Sabrina is Latina, the third in her family to attend college. Her two cousins, Lola and Angela, preceded her. Lola is pre-law, just like Sabrina, and Angela’s a third year law student. And they all have very strong opinions about our government’s practices.”
Ashton laughed.
“What I find inspiring, though,” Razor continued, “is her passion for victims of injustice. She has vowed to reunite every child who was wrongly separated from their parents at the border.”
“Wow.”
“I know. I wanna be her when I grow up.”
Ashton tilted her head to the person standing next to Sabrina. “What about Emery?”
Razor chuckled. “She’s a pistol. Local girl, like very local. Originally from Memphis, youngest in her family, with an older brother who played sports and used her for target practice. Says it taught her to be tough. Oh! And she loves cosplay. She’s a theater major and wants to design costumes.”
Ashton nodded, impressed. “And Harper?”
“Harper grew up in a family of sports lovers. Dad was a star receiver in football. Mom ran track. Older sister was also a softball player, shortstop not catcher. She carries a lot of expectations but at the same time wants to carve her own path. Has a huge desire to help, that’s why she went into nursing. ”
Razor’s smile was kind. She obviously had a soft spot for the young catcher.
“And what about Summer? What did you learn about her?”
Razor scrunched up her face and tapped her chin. “Summer is cautious. She really loves her dad, which is why she chose to go to Western and stay close.”
Ashton waited, feeling Razor left something out. “There’s something else.”
“There is, but I’ll let Summer tell you.” She narrowed her eyes and asked, “How did you know there’s more?”
“Call it an intuition. Plus, you looked like you wanted to say more but stopped.”
Razor laughed. “You’re really good at picking up on the nuances.”
Ashton shrugged and hoped the flashing lights disguised her blush. “It’s no different than what you do. Catchers are like the psychologists on the field. They have to be able to read the pitcher as well as the pitch, not to mention keep a cool head when everyone else is losing their shit.”
Razor scoffed. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
“That is exactly you. I remember a game where you were catching, and the pitcher was so frustrated because the batter kept fouling off her pitches. I think it was close to twenty total.”
“Twenty-one, I believe.”
“Anyway, you called time and went out to talk to her. I don’t know what you said, but her next pitch was hit up the middle. The second baseman dived for the ball and tagged the bag to get the final out.”
“All I told her was to stop pitching her inside and let the defense work behind her,” Razor admitted.
“But that’s what makes what you did so amazing. You saw the nuances and knew what adjustment needed to be made. You say I have skills. Yours are better.”
Razor blushed at the compliment, then furrowed her brow. “Wait…that was the second game of the Super Regionals against Texas, my sophomore year. Courtney was in the circle.” She turned questioning eyes on Ashton. “You were already in Japan by then. How did you know what happened?”
Ashton crunched the ice in her mouth and swallowed slowly. “I…” She looked down and noticed their hands were close enough to touch. Razor’s skin was nearly palpable.
“Did you follow me?” Razor whispered.
There wasn’t anger or bitterness in Razor’s tone, only genuine curiosity.
Ashton opened her mouth again, but the words wouldn’t come out.
She closed it and stared at the table. She inched her hand closer and laid her pinkie on top of Razor’s hand.
When she looked up, she was greeted by a shy, warm smile.
Ashton mirrored it with her own, and as she worked up the courage to finally speak, they were interrupted by a loud cough.
“If you two are done flirting, we have a bone to pick with you,” Emery stated.
Ashton blinked rapidly and fumbled out, “We weren’t flirting, we were just talking about—”
“What’s the problem?” Razor saved her from herself.
“Well,” Emery continued, “each of us asked you how you got your name.”
“And?”
“You gave conflicting statements.”
Razor’s lips twitched with a coy smile. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Ashton smothered a laugh at Emery’s wide-eyed stare. “You told me you got the name because you rode a Razor scooter to practice every day.”
“You told me it was because you shaved your head with a straight razor after you made it to the College World Series,” Summer continued.
“I would never shave my head. I promised my mother.”
“You told me it was because you always carried a razor blade growing up in a tough neighborhood,” Tori interjected.
“Hey, Jonesboro was pretty rough back in those days.”
Ashton rolled her eyes and rubbed at the scar above her eyebrow, trying to hold in her laughter.
“So which one is it?” Emery asked.
“Which one is what?”
“The true story.”
Razor schooled her features into a solemn expression. “When I was four, I swallowed, like, ten razors and had emergency surgery.”
A chorus of frustrated whines and grumbles rang out. Ashton mouthed You’re so bad when Razor smiled at her.
“Why won’t you just tell us?” Summer asked.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“I feel we’ve done what you asked and earned the right to know,” Harper added.
“While I will say you have made exceptional progress tonight, I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’ve earned it.”
“Fine. Then when do we get to know the truth?” Emery asked.
Razor’s grin broadened, devilish in its execution. “When you win the conference championship.”
“You’re joking. There’s no way we’ll make it to the conference championship,” Summer stated.
Ashton agreed with them and felt a little trepidation for setting such a monumental feat as a goal.
Razor jumped up and clapped her hands. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll play one more game. Me against your best, winner take all. If you win, then I’ll tell you where I got my name.”
“And if you win?” Tori asked.
Razor tapped her chin. “If I win, then you have to make it to the postseason this year. Do we have a deal?”
The wager was ridiculous, but hadn’t Razor already shown that competition was a motivator to get them to do their best?
“I think it’s an honorable bet,” Ashton chimed in. “Y’all have everything to gain and nothing to lose. If you win, you’ll get the story. If Razor wins, then you hit the reset button and learn that it’s not how you begin, it’s how you finish.”
Razor nodded in silent thanks.
“Okay,” Emery agreed, “we accept the challenge.”
Razor shook her hand vigorously. “That’s great. And to be a good sport, I will let you choose the game.”
“We choose Whac-A-Mole,” Emery said confidently.
“Perfect. And who is your champion?”
Emery wrapped her arm around Harper’s shoulders. “Harper. She kicked all of our asses, and she’ll kick yours, too.”
Razor rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain.
“Oh good, a worthy opponent. Let’s do this!”
Ashton slid slowly off the stool and followed, hoping this side bet achieved what they wanted.
* * *
Razor hadn’t intended to cause chaos. She just thought it’d be a fun way to mess around with the girls.
She knew they’d talk, find out they’d all been lied to, and would have a common goal to reach together.
The idea of them making it to the championship was genius, and luckily, they picked a game she excelled at.
She handed the mallet over to Harper and allowed her first shot. She was impressed when Harper executed stellar hand-eye coordination, only faltering in the final round when all the heads popped up at once.
“Two hundred and twenty-five. Very good,” Razor commended.
Harper handed over the mallet, bowing with a flare.
Razor snorted but didn’t say a word. She tapped the card and waited for the theme music to end.
The first mole popped up on her left and she bopped it.
The second popped up on her right with the same result.
As more and more moles came up, Razor found her rhythm, eventually anticipating each appearance.
At the bonus round, she stilled and held the mallet dead center.
Suddenly, all the heads popped up, and at the last second, Razor dropped the hammer and rolled it across the platform, hitting every single mole head.
Lights flashed, alarms sounded, and tickets spewed out of the machine, with the final score reading two hundred and thirty-two points.
“Awwww man,” Emery grumbled.
“I demand a rematch,” Harper said.
Razor’s hands went up. “A deal is a deal. You have to make it to the postseason. And when we get there, I promise, I will tell how I got my name.”