Chapter 8
Eight
One Week Later
“Hudson Bordeaux just hit an Aaron Judge bomber out of the park in the bottom of the third inning, putting the Wolves up by three runs,” Mav says with his fist up to his mouth, pretending to commentate while I write in my notebook.
So far, this project has been more fun than any school assignment I’ve ever had.
As Hudson rounds third base, Maverick stands again, cheering for his friend loud enough for the whole section. After Hudson touches home plate, and the Wolves baseball team has their chance to praise him, Maverick cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “You’re a stud, Huddy.”
Hudson’s head immediately snaps up, and his eyes land on Maverick’s. With a big smile, he sticks his arm out, pointing in our direction.
Maverick beams proudly. “We always said Hudson was more athletic than all of us.” He continues as he sits back down beside me.
“Growing up, he could do just about any sport and always seemed to be the best at it.” Still smiling, he shakes his head.
“Used to piss me the hell off, but now I honestly just couldn’t be prouder of him, and I know,” he pauses for a second, swallowing thickly before he says, “my sister would be screaming at the top of her lungs if she was here right now.”
I’ve been around the group enough to know that Maverick and Cash lost their younger sister in a horrific accident when they were teens. We don’t know each other well, but it seems to be something that isn’t openly discussed, so I’m surprised to hear him mention her.
“Were Hudson and your sister really close?”
I feel him tense before he answers, and I can tell this is a subject he doesn’t want to broach. “They were best friends. They had a connection that ran deep.”
The crack of the bat on the field draws our attention, and Mav relaxes, quickly holding his pretend microphone in front of me. “Alright, you’re up, Howler Girl.”
I smile at him, pretending to clear my throat as I watch everything play out in front of me.
“Ramirez hits it right to Davis on short. He gloves it, no problem… Oh wow, it’s overthrown!
He overthrew the ball to the first baseman, Jackson!
The first base coach sends Ramirez to second while Jackson recovers the ball.
Incredible, what should have been the third out for the Cougars turned into a double for Ramirez. ”
A rush of excitement runs through me. This is where I belong. This would be my dream career. As much as I love journalism, it doesn’t give me the same joy as broadcasting would.
Mav doesn’t remove his fist, wanting me to continue, somehow knowing I have more to say.
“Davis doesn’t make errors like that often.
Matter of fact, just last season, he won the Golden Glove award as a sophomore.
Now, we have Ramirez in scoring position, with Palmer up next, and he leads the Wolves in home runs this season. ”
Mav gives me an impressed look. “Dang, you do know your stuff.”
His comment has the email I saw last week flooding my thoughts. I try to hold back my smile as I recall the one that came through last night.
From: showmethemoney@
Well, shit, you did respond. I’d officially given up on winning that bet. But hey, it still feels good to be right.
Glad to know unhinged posts about us athletes are what really creates sales. I guess there’s no surprise there. I appreciate your creativity, though. This also makes sense as to why the dean hasn’t shut you guys down yet.
Money talks… Just check my email:)
Speaking of that, of course I’m a Jerry McGuire fan. I’m pretty sure every athlete hopes to have a Jerry in their life at some point.
But low key…I made this email when I was fifteen, so give me a break.
And as for your second question… I was sitting beside my cousin (who made me watch the show in the first place), jaw wide open when I found out who xoxo, Gossip Girl really was.
Also, what the hell is lore? And you said, “one of the places,” so what other fictional places started this lore you speak of?
Until next time, Howler Girl…
XO,
Gossip Guy
Could it truly be Mav? But why wouldn’t he just say something at this point? I shake the thought, reminding myself I still need to respond to his statement.
“What were you expecting me to say?” I bat my lashes at him and make my voice higher pitched, making my own microphone now. “Tight pants Ramirez rounds first, and let me just tell you, the way those buns bounce in that grey polyester is a sight for sore eyes, and one I’ll be saving for later.”
He stares at me for a few seconds before he doubles over, causing the people to our left to look at us with annoyance.
“You are full of surprises, Howler Girl,” Mav says through his laughter.
So are you, Maverick Leblanc, and so are these butterflies I swore I’d never let an athlete give me.
Mav
“That was an amazing game!” Peyton beams as we leave the baseball stadium. She’s not wrong; not only did we have a walk-off home run, but we’re now leading the series 1-0.
I nod back. “Yeah, it really was. Too bad Cash and Bellamy weren’t here to see it. If you thought I was loud, you could only imagine what it’s like with the three of us.”
“Ay yo, Leblanc. Great to see you,” a security guard says as we head out. I raise my hand and yell back, “You too, Armsher!”
Peyton observes me for a second, then continues. “I can't believe Palmer hit that bomb over centerfield.” Her excitement has me listening intently to every word as she recaps some of the game’s highlights. She suddenly stops rambling after a few minutes and gives me a mean side-eye. “You good?”
Her question catches me off guard. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’ve been completely silent while I ramble on like a total stan,” she admits, and I notice a slight blush on her cheeks.
“I was just enjoying your take on the game, that’s all.” I smile, then pop a piece of Big Red into my mouth. “Hey, you want to go grab something to eat?”
She seems surprised by my invite, but agrees. “Uh, sure, where do you want to go?”
“I'm kind of craving The Wolfpack’s wings… We could walk there since it’s nice out. Does that work?”
“Sounds good to me,” Peyton says, and we head through campus to town.
Campus is pretty empty this time of day, especially during the summer, and any student who’s here was probably just at the game.
We walk in peaceful silence for a while, which is pretty new to me. Usually, I like to fill those awkward moments with a joke or some sort of filler. The quiet is when my mind starts to wander, and I don’t generally enjoy where it goes.
“Alright, so since we're going to be working together this summer, how about we get to know each other a bit better?” Peyton suggests after several minutes.
“Off the record?” I quirk my eyebrow at her, and she chuckles.
“Yes, off the record.”
“All right, I'm game. What you thinking?”
We pass by a group of students who all shout out my name. I politely wave, hello then direct my focus back to Peyton.
“Hmm twenty-one questions? But whatever question you ask, you need to answer as well.”
“So, forty-two questions?” I laugh.
“Ha, yeah, that might be too many. How about we just keep it simple.”
“Deal, you want to start?”
“Sure. How do you like being semi-famous? Is it something you’re ready for once you get to the NHL?”
Her question takes me back, but I should’ve known they would be deep. Even though Peyton likes to joke around and write catchy articles for the Howler Report, she’s a true journalist at heart.
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Took a while to get used to people knowing who I am, but I like it. As for the NHL, I think that kind of fame comes with its own set of rules. You become a role model and have to act accordingly, but I'm up for the challenge.”
My gaze flits over to her, and she smiles. I motion with my hand that it’s now her turn to answer.
“Oh… Um, well, I'm not famous, so I don’t think I can answer.”
“Sure, you are. You’re the Howler Girl, and aren’t you thinking of a career in reporting? Your face is going to be known,” I say, nudging her shoulder.
Another blush creeps onto her cheeks before she responds, “I mean, I guess I never thought of it that way. I don’t hate the idea anymore, maybe the nickname Howler Girl, but I’m getting used to people reading my words and knowing I’m the one who wrote them.”
We make it into town and head past the park toward the Wolfpack, which seems to be pretty busy this evening. I guess everyone leaving the game had the same idea. Inside, the hostess greets us, and as we scope out the dining area, I check to see if Berkley is waitressing.
Peyton leans into me so I can hear her over the crowd. “Berk isn’t working tonight. Do you have a preference for where to sit?”
“Nah, I'm good,” I reply, not caring where I am if B isn’t here.
Peyton chats with the hostess for a few minutes before we follow her to our booth. We look over our menus, then place our orders.
“Alright, my turn,” I say, rubbing my hands together. I’m eager to get to know her better, knowing deep down, there’s more to her than meets the eye. Her face lights up with a smile. “Give me your best.”
“Geez, no pressure or anything,” I tease, now trying to think of a good one.
There are so many things I want to ask her.
Like where she grew up, does she have any siblings, what was that old Instagram photo about…
Clearly, I’m taking too long, because her voice interrupts my racing train of thought. “You’re killing me, Smalls.”
I chuckle, but now I know my first question. “What’s your favorite movie?”
Peyton lets out an exasperated sigh. “Really, after all that…that’s what you come up with?”
“Listen, we’re just getting started… I have plenty more where that came from,” I confirm by tapping my finger on my temple.
“I honestly don’t think I can give you just one favorite movie.”
“Alright, how about top five. Fair?”