Chapter 2
Brooks
Maybe.
But I wouldn’t know.
I wasn’t made of small-town stuff, and while I didn’t think I was too good for it, I wasn’t thrilled with it either.
Small means limits.
I didn’t want limits in my baseball career.
I had big plans.
They didn’t include Wisconsin.
The locker door next to mine slammed shut.“Yo, bruh.”
I met the high-five with a palm-stinging slap of my own. “Hey,” I answered.
“Priestly says you’re the new guy.”
I nodded. Coach Priestly of the baseball team. He’d been nice when I met him, and he’d said I was enrolled early enough to make spring try-outs for the team.
“Reece Walters.” The guy in front of me introduced himself. “I pitch for our team.”
The Ironhorses’ pitcher, Reece Walters, was known for framing pitches crazy good.
Driftwood Rapids High was never going to outlive its Wisconsin history of railroads and logging.
It’s why—I’d noticed—Reece had the phrase, “bends steel” attached to his pitches.
It was a railroad thing. Along with the school mascot, Iron Jack—a metal-plated stallion with fiery eyes and a mane that was black like coal.
My old team back home was less . . . regional. We were the Twin City Falconers. Our uniforms were blue and white, and our mascot was—big surprise—a falcon.
But really, I didn’t care. Horses, falcons, railroads. The fact was, if I made it in good with Reece, then maybe I’d not only make the team, but I’d make it onto the starting line-up.
“Brooks. Brooks Mason,” I was a little late responding.
A weird look crossed Reece’s face, but it disappeared so fast I hoped it was nothing.
“Brooks Mason, huh?” Reece repeated.
“Yeah.”
“Are you—from North Carolina, by any chance?”
“North Carolina?” I racked my brain trying to figure out if that was somehow important. “No. I’m from Minnesota.”
“Got it.” Reece grinned. He gave my shoulder a friendly slug. “No worries. I thought I knew of a Brooks Mason from North Carolina.”
I didn’t even know how to reply.
“What position do you play?” Reece continued as if nothing had happened.
“Catcher.”
“Cool.” Reece motioned for me to come with him down the hall. “Tryouts are in a few weeks. Got to get through Valentine’s Day first, though. It’s my favorite holiday.”
“It is?” I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t expected that from Reece Walters.
“Yep.” Reece tossed me a grin. “It means as soon as V-Day is over, baseball season starts.”
“Oh!” I laughed. Yeah, that made more sense.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Reece sidestepped a garbage can, and two girls who were eyeing him like he was Valentine’s Day.
“Nope.” That was an easy answer. I didn’t have time for dating, I didn’t want a girlfriend, and the whole boy-meets-girl expectation was a bit out there as far as I was concerned. I wanted to focus on baseball and—well, baseball.
Reece had the strangest grin on his face, and he shot me a glance before replying with a laugh. “Good. Then this isn’t going to get complicated at all.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that.
I didn’t realize I’d find out by the end of my second first day of my junior year.
A few girls checked their phones, looked at me, then rechecked their phones.
I didn’t think too much of it as I slid into my seat in physics.
I wanted to play at a D1/D2 college, and physics was not just a good core credit, but it also set me up well for baseball.
Ball trajectory, bat-ball connection; it was all the stuff I needed to know.
I didn’t have a problem with academics if they had a purpose.
It was classes like US History that I felt were a waste of time.
The stock market might have crashed in 1929, but I didn’t really care.
I did care that Babe Ruth hit 46 home runs that season, but somehow that never made it onto a history test.
Whatever.
I took a few moments to eye the others in the class.
It looked like about twelve girls and roughly the same number of guys.
Most of the guys were huddled in a tight circle or else on their phones.
My mom said she hated the fact that schools didn’t police phone usage in the classroom more.
I didn’t agree with her. I was glad we were free to have them.
So, I pulled mine out of my pocket because the teacher was ignoring all of us at the moment, her back to us as she messed with something on the whiteboard.
I was pulling up stats on the National League line-up when a voice broke into my preferred source of entertainment.
“Brooks Mason?”
It was a girl’s voice.
I lifted my eyes, trying to be polite. She was cute. I mean, she had brown eyes and dark brown hair. A nice face. “Hey.” I responded because it wasn’t polite not to, but I wasn’t sure what else I was expected to say.
“You are Brooks Mason!” The girl’s eyes sparkled like she knew me.
Maybe we’d met before?
I didn’t know.
I managed an awkward smile. Again, trying to be polite.
“I’m Jenessa.” White teeth. A nice smile. Her lips were shiny. Lip gloss like my younger cousin in middle school used. I thought she’d called the shade “puke pink,” or something like that. No. That’s what I’d called it. I bit back a laugh.
“Hey.” I said again. Because it was either lol at the girl’s lip gloss—which wasn’t bad, it just reminded me of my sister’s—or respond with a question. And I didn’t have any questions.
“So, how long have you been here?” Jenessa wasn’t giving up.
“About a week.” We’d moved in last Monday.
“Cool!” She bounced in her seat. “So do you miss Asheville?”
“Asheville?” I parroted.
“Yeah. North Carolina?” She smiled again and leaned forward in really obvious interest in me. I smelled a whiff of something sweet. Fruity. Maybe it was hand lotion. Or her hair product.
“I don’t—” I fumbled for something to say. This was the second person to mention North Carolina to me today.
“I was in Asheville a year ago.” Jenessa continued, and I let her. It seemed safer. “My cousin lives there. Do you know Aubrey Nieman?”
“Um. No.”
“Shoot. Okay. Well, I thought you might.”
The teacher turned then and Jenessa dropped her voice so it was quieter. Her eyes twinkled like she and I shared some mutual information, but I had no clue what her issue was.
“Anyway! It’s cool to meet you. I can’t wait to tell Brielle we’re in physics together.”
And then Jenessa was quiet as the teacher started class.
North Carolina?
Bruh. I’d never been south in my life.
And who the heck was Brielle?