It's a Prank: A Sweet YA Romance (Sweet Water High) Read online

  I nodded, dropping my hands from my hair. “I understand,” I mumbled. I did. There were rules for a reason. It just felt like the only reason those rules were in place was to stop me from making the team. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Good luck at tryouts.” Mr. Washington checked his watch. “I’m leaving,” he called to Gabe.

  “Bye.” Gabe didn’t look up from his homework. “Hey, Summer. Do you have a minute?”

  I pointed to my chest. Gabe Washington was speaking to me … in front of his dad … on purpose. I glanced around to see if there was another Summer in the room, unable to make a coherent sound.

  “Did you see what Mr. Larson said to do for number eight?”

  I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that Gabe Washington knew my name. It wasn’t like Sweet Water was that big of a city, and yet I’d never gotten so much as a chin lift as we passed in a deserted hallway. I stood there, blinking like police lights were in my eyes.

  Gabe’s head came up, and I was caught in the direct gaze of his deep brown eyes. I’d never looked into Gabe’s eyes before—never had a reason. My heart fluttered and the beeps and boops from the games faded into a soft hum in the background, drowned out by the blood rushing through my veins. It was too much to take in all at once, and I had to look away.

  When I finally focused, I found Gabe’s dad looking at me funny. “Are you in the same math class?”

  I nodded and whispered, “Yeah.”

  “It’s okay if you stay to help him,” he encouraged.

  “Yeah. Okay.” I shuffled towards the counter, feeling like a runner caught between two bases. I wanted to turn back and speed for the door, but Mr. Washington stood there, watching us. Ahead was Gabe, tapping the eraser against the book as he waited for me.

  Why were my feet moving so slowly?

  The glass display case, where they had all the trinkets for kids who won tickets to exchange, was cool to the touch. I stared at the bottom button of Gabe’s work shirt. It was dark blue and made his arms look tan and muscular. I knew the color of the shirt shouldn’t matter in the way of muscle definition, but this one somehow did.

  Gabe was looking over my head. “Play along,” he muttered, his lips hardly moving. “I don’t remember how to find the reciprocal,” he said, loud enough for his dad to hear.

  I nodded. “So the easiest way to find the reciprocal of a fraction is—”

  “Okay, he’s gone.” Gabe flipped his book shut and leaned on the counter with both hands.

  My mouth hung open from the unfinished sentence, and I snapped it shut and scowled. Who did he think he was, using me to break up a fight with his dad? So uncool. “Look. I get not wanting to be chewed out, but I don’t want to be dragged in the middle of a family feud.”

  His eyes rolled over my face. “But you want to hit, don’t you?”

  I wished my pride was stronger and held my indignation together better, but it slackened. I lifted a noncommittal shoulder.

  “You wanted to make a trade; I’ll make you a deal.” He straightened, folding his arms and making his biceps look twice as big. I hated myself for noticing. The thing was, Gabe was hot. Addison wasn’t joking about his effect on the female population of Sweet Water High. He’d dated half the mean girls (MGs for short) and flirted with the rest. The cheerleaders were firmly on Team Gabe, and even the softball girls tripped over themselves to sit by him on the bus. Any one of them would give their hair care products for the chance to make a trade of any kind with Gabe.

  Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t part of his fan club. “I’m not doing your homework.”

  “My what?” He shook his head. “No. Not that kind of trade.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Then what?”

  His arms dropped and he leaned over the counter, inviting my confidence. The scent of men’s body wash hit my nose, all musky and spicy and yummy. I took a deep breath in before I could stop myself. My Gabe-dar turned into a sniffing machine. My lips dried out, and I had to moisten them. Had he noticed me sniffing him? Gag! That was so embarrassing.

  “I need to get out of here early. But there’s a checklist a mile long, and my dad is on my tail. He’ll inspect everything in the morning.”

  I rolled my hands one over the other. “So …”

  “So. I let you hit for the next half hour, then you clean the bathrooms while I close out the register, and we can both be out of here in an hour.”

  A half hour was less than I needed but more than I was going to get without his help. If his dad had made the offer, I would have jumped at it. Coming from Gabe, the whole thing felt like a frame-up. “Why do you want to leave early?”

  “Why do you want the extra practice?”

  I clamped my lips shut. No way was I going to tell him my spot on the team depended on it. Gabe didn’t let his swing go stale. Gabe didn’t have to do drills on the weekends. His spot on the team was as sure as his big old allowance.

  Still, I didn’t like the idea that I was helping him sneak around. “I told you, I don’t want to get in the middle of your family drama.”

  “No one will know.”

  “What about the cameras?” They had them all over the building. “And the cash register totals. Your dad will know I didn’t pay.”

  “I’ll pay.”

  “Is this a prank?” I fisted my hand.

  He smirked. “You’ll have to play to find out.”

  I could call his bluff. “Is it worth 150 bucks to you? I want every night for two weeks.”

  “Totally worth it.” He stuck out his hand and his lips twitched. “I hate cleaning toilets.”

  Gag! I lived in a house of all girls. I couldn’t remember ever having to clean a toilet after boys had been in there, but I’d heard plenty of horror stories from Addison, who had three younger brothers. I gulped. He was totally pranking me—the bathroom had to be disgusting.

  I can do hard things, I told myself.

  I eyed his hand for a minute, noting the calluses from gripping a bat, before sliding my hand into his and sealing the deal. A zap went up my arm and I jerked away, wondering if it was him or me who had built up the static electricity. Probably me when I’d been crawling around on the ground retrieving sunglasses.

  “Here.” He reached down and retrieved a light blue-and-cream bat and a matching helmet from under the counter. “I’ll set you up in number four.”

  “All right.” I headed to the cages, ready to let some of my frustration out on unsuspecting softballs. I windmilled my arms, checking to see if I was still loose enough from practice to jump right in. My arms felt fine; it was my stomach that was in knots. So many things could go wrong with this deal. If Gabe’s dad found out and told the coaches, I’d be off the team. What had I gotten myself into?

  Chapter 3

  “Curses!” I snapped as I repositioned my feet behind the plate. The softball hit the pad behind me with a thud and dropped to the ground, where it rolled to the edge of the cage. I was 5 for 35. As far as I could tell, my timing was fine—it was making contact that was the problem. Everywhere the balls flew, my bat did not. The phrase can’t hit the broad side of a barn ran though my head like ticker tape.

  I swung at the next ball. The machine was relentless. It didn’t care if I stepped out of the box or lost my cool; it just kept throwing balls my way. My stomach muscles were going to hate me tomorrow for pushing so hard. I didn’t care. I also didn’t care that I was yelling at the machine.

  The lack of an audience should have been freeing, but instead, I found it unnerving. The only thing to concentrate on was my failure. I couldn’t blame the pitcher for throwing a great strike. I couldn’t blame the catcher for jawing in my ear. I couldn’t even blame the fans for being too loud or distracting. It was just me inside my head—and I didn’t like what I saw at all. I swung again, my bat cutting through the air. “Gah!” I let out a scream. I’d never do that on the field, but I was just so angry at myse
lf for screwing this up.

  Suddenly, the chug-chug of the machine cut off and the lights dimmed. “Time’s up,” called Gabe from the door.

  I tucked my chin and ripped the helmet off my head as I stormed out, slamming the cage door behind me, making the chain link rattle.

  “If I’d have known you’d be angrier after hitting, I’d have made you clean first.”

  “Shut it.” I shoved the bat and helmet at him. He could put them away. “Not all of us can be born into greatness.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He didn’t miss a step or stumble as he kept up with my stomping fast footsteps. I had no idea where he wanted me to start, so I headed to the bathrooms, figuring he wouldn’t follow me into the women’s. Then again, he cleaned them, so he’d been in there before.

  “Of course baseball comes easy to you—you can tune up your swing whenever you want.” I flicked a hand back to the cages. “Not all of us have a training camp in our backyard.”

  “Hey—I work at ball too.”

  “Yeah, right.” I held out my hand. “Give me the checklist so I can get started.”

  He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. It was warm on my palm. I didn’t want to think about his body temperature or being close enough to know what his skin felt like as his fingers brushed my hand. I gritted my teeth. Why was I such a scatterbrain around this guy? So he had money. So what? That didn’t make him any better than me, and it didn’t make him a rock star like the girls treated him at school. I was not going to let him get in my head.

  “Cleaning products are in that closet.” He pointed to a door between the men’s and women’s bathrooms, his face a mixture of emotions. Some I could name; others were unfamiliar. “Do a good job or don’t bother coming back tomorrow.”

  I scrunched my face at his back as he walked away. Jerk. Then I glanced at the camera in the corner and cringed. Hopefully he didn’t think to watch the playback. Shaking my head, I opened the closet door and rifled through the supplies. I needed to hurry. My sisters would be done soon, and I didn’t want them hanging around in the cold after their workouts.

  I grabbed a pair of disposable gloves, screwed up my courage, and headed into the men’s room. The place wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. There was a funny smell coming from the round things in the urinals, but I figured that’s what they were made to smell like. Gross. As I worked, I went through my good at bats, the ones from last year when I was on top of my game. I tried to remember what it felt like to hit the ball with a solid ting. Instead of the triumph I expected to feel at the memories, all I got was a black ball of disappointment in myself for having slid so far backward. I had to think of something else.

  The first subject that popped into my head was my argument with Gabe. I couldn’t have been the first person to begrudge him being born into the perfect family. His dad had played in the minor leagues. His mom was on the city council. He had a brother who’d gone off to college or something and lived in a house on the beach. What did he expect?

  Right in the middle of spraying the toilet bowl cleaner around the rim, I recognized the look on Gabe’s face that I’d been unable to place earlier.

  It was hurt.

  I’d wounded Gabe Washington.

  What the heck? The knowledge sat on my conscience like a dropped third strike that cost us a run. The trouble was, I didn’t know how to fix it or even if I should try. Groveling never came easy to me, and Gabe had more confidence than my whole team put together.

  Still, I wasn’t raised to stomp all over people. Mom expected us to care about others’ feelings. I’d apologize when the time felt right. Certainly not tonight, when he was already in full-on jerk mode. But soon.

  Chapter 4

  “Hurry!” I called to my little sisters as I pulled up to the curb outside the junior high and popped the trunk. Kaylee and Grace tossed their bags in and both climbed in the back seat. “Oh no. I’m not your chauffeur. One of you get up here.”

  Kaylee, the older of the two, made the switch. Though my sisters were born eleven months apart, they ended up in the same grade and on the same teams. People often thought they were twins, but Kaylee was taller by two inches and kept her hair shoulder-length, while Grace had more curves than the two of us put together and wore her hair to her belt like me.

  “We scrimmaged with the guys tonight. Grace totally threw Trevor out at second. He had no idea it was coming.”

  “Yeah!” I reached over the seat to give my sis a fist bump.

  Her response was less than enthusiastic. “If I’d thought about it, I—”

  “What?” I pressed. What was there to think about? Throwing out a runner at second was the bomb!

  Grace clammed up, so I turned to Kaylee. “What?”

  Kaylee rolled her eyes. “She’s totally crushing on Trevor. He was so mad when she threw him out that he wouldn’t even look at her.”

  “Then he’s a loser.” I glanced in the rearview to see Grace turn her head quickly to the side. “Grace, listen. If he can’t handle you beating him, then you don’t want him. A guy should make you feel good about yourself, not doubt your awesomeness or try to hide it.”

  “Says the girl who never dates,” Grace grumbled.

  “On purpose. I don’t date on purpose. Boys are a distraction I can’t afford right now.”

  “Pa-lease—the team would fall apart without you.” Kaylee shoved my arm.

  “Thanks.” I held back from telling them about what Coach Mackensie had said. They didn’t need my stress. They did need my advice. “Trust me. Staying away from boys and focusing on the game and your grades is what will get you into college. You guys are too young to know the dangers, but I’ve seen them firsthand. Remember Carol?” Carol had been on my accelerated team all the way up until we were fourteen. Then she started dating a seventeen-year-old and dropped her friends and softball. She worked full-time at the supermarket now and took classes online to get her GED. She wasn’t pregnant or anything; she’d just given up her dreams—all for the sake of some guy.

  “Whatever,” Grace muttered. She’d heard the cautionary tale of Carol before.

  I could talk to a softball and get more of a response than Grace gave from the back seat. No matter. I’d said my piece.

  They chatted about homework and classes and girls on the team the rest of the way home, making me feel very much like an old woman. I remembered being their age, crushing on guys and dying of excitement when they said hi in the cafeteria. It’d been fun. But that all had worn off as I got older.

  We pulled into the garage, and before anyone could escape, I turned to Grace. “It’s your night to cook dinner.” Mom’s shift didn’t get over until ten. Family dinners were rare at our house. Most nights it was us girls. We had to watch out for each other. Well, more like I had to make sure they did their homework and chores. I shuddered to think what the house would look like if I didn’t prod them along.

  Grace groaned. “I’m down to, like, two pairs of socks and one bra. Can you do it?” She turned on the full force of her my-life-is-so-hard pout.

  I’d been the victim of that pout for her first four years of life, before I’d started to toughen up. I had an essay to finish. Of course, if I was sorting and folding laundry, I couldn’t write. But … if I threw something in the oven, I could work while it cooked. “Wash what’s in my hamper too and we’ll call it even.”

  “Deal.” Grace scampered into the house before I could change my mind.

  I stopped at the deep freeze to pull out a bag of frozen broccoli. If I threw it in the rice cooker first, it would be nicely steamed by the time I pulled the chicken out of the oven.

  Kaylee moved slower than Grace. Her eyes were unfocused, like her thoughts were a million miles away.

  “You okay?” I asked as we headed inside. The mudroom was more of a locker room with our gear bags and cleats lined up. I dropped a deodorizer into everyone’s shoes and picked up Grace’s jacket, which had fall
en off the hook.

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah.” She shook herself out of her daze. “I was just thinking about, uh, science.”

  I laughed. “Right. And I can throw a screwball. What’s up?” I retrieved the rice cooker from the pantry and dumped the frozen broccoli in, adding a cup of water and setting it to cook.

  “Do you ever get tired?”

  “Yeah. I could drop in bed right now.” Seriously. Sleep!

  “I mean, do you ever get tired of being so busy? Sometimes, I’d like to just lie on the beach with my friends and get a tan line that didn’t make farmers jealous.”

  I chuckled. I had those tan lines too. “No. I’d rather be on the field any day of the week.”

  She dropped her chin. “That’s what I thought.”

  I reached for the fridge handle, but something in her voice tugged at my heart. “Kaylee, you have more natural talent than I ever did. You’re on your way to greatness. Don’t give up.”

  She nodded, her eyes never lifting off the tiled floor. “I just need some sleep.” She rolled her pitching arm in a windmill. “A warm shower and then sleep.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry.” She shuffled down the hallway toward her room, not bothering to turn on the light. A second later, I heard her fall on her bed with a grunt. Poor girl.

  We kept up a harried pace around here. Not only did we have workouts and practices, but Mom expected us to keep our grades high enough to qualify for academic scholarships. She wanted us well-rounded, which meant that we had to pick something besides softball to participate in. Grace sang in the choir. Kaylee did the science fair—she’d taken third this year. I ran with cross-country in the fall, mostly because it didn’t interfere with softball and it kept me in shape. I appreciated Mom’s goals for us all, but Kaylee had pushed too hard to win the science fair. She’d spent night after night perfecting her poster and going over her presentation. Sleep would be good for her. I’d put a plate in the fridge in case she woke up later and needed dinner.