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

  I found the chicken and a cooking pan and assembled Mom’s easy chicken bake. Kaylee would be okay. She was going through the burnout stage all athletes hit right before they go into high school. Some drop out, like Carol. Others push through and find a new level of love of the game and ability.

  I set the timer, brushed off my hands, and sat down at the kitchen table to finish my English essay on the ideal age to get married and have children. One study said getting married between 28 and 32 significantly lessened the chances of divorce. My parents were high school sweethearts and had gotten divorced before they were 30, so I could see the logic behind the study’s numbers.

  Besides, who really knew what love was when they were young? I certainly wouldn’t have a clue what it looked like.

  My thoughts were suddenly overshadowed by the look of hurt in Gabe’s eyes tonight. He walked around school like he was the king of the hallways. Seriously, girls changed their class schedules so they would cross paths with him. I shouldn’t have been able to cause hurt in his life with a few barbed words. I was a nobody compared to Gabe. I groaned and dropped my head to the pine table with a thunk. I was a good person; he’d just caught me at a bad time. Plus, he always seemed like a self-absorbed, rich-kid jerk.

  But what if he wasn’t?

  I sat up abruptly. I couldn’t spend all night thinking about Gabe. If I bombed this essay, then the best I could get out of the class was a B, and that wasn’t going to cut it for the recruiters. It was time to follow my own advice and leave boys alone until after graduation.

  Chapter 5

  “What are you doing this weekend?”

  I threw my back pack into my locker and faced Harper. The school day had just started, and her heart-shaped face was full of excitement. “Jett’s out of town, and I thought we could have a movie night and eat too many peanut butter M&M’s at my house.”

  “Sounds great!” I grinned. “Let’s invite Bailey too.” The three of us had been best friends since the first day of first grade. Harper’s mom had sent her with an alfalfa sprout sandwich. I took pity and gave her half my PB and J. Bailey had offered up her pudding cup, and we shared a bag of chips. Our friendship was bonded tight with sugar and empty carbs—the kind of stuff that lasts through awkward tween years, braces, and boys.

  “Already did.” Harper wiggled her phone.

  I tucked my math book into the crook of my arm and turned down the hall. My stomach was in knots at the thought of seeing Gabe. I’d been able to avoid him when I walked down the jock hall, but there was no avoiding having the same class together. I glanced at the nurse’s office as we passed by, wondering if nervousness was enough of a reason to lie on a cot for a half hour.

  “So, what movie do you want to watch?”

  We’d reached the doorway to my classroom. Mr. Larson was one of those teachers who couldn’t stand hallway noise and insisted that the door to his room be shut at all times.

  I rubbed my lips together as I thought about my options while reaching for the door handle. “Um …”

  A long, tan arm reached between the two of us. “Let me get that for you.”

  A happy little shiver rushed over my skin at the deep voice and gentlemanly action. I stepped out of the way so the door could swing open. “Gabe?” I asked incredulously.

  “’Sup, Summer?” One side of his mouth lifted in a half grin. His brown eyes were full of questions and a little bit of hope.

  “N-nothing,” I replied, ducking into class and making a beeline for my seat. My tongue glued itself to the top of my mouth in surprise. Yes, that was why my heart raced. Surprise that Gabe would acknowledge my presence in public.

  Harper took the chair next to mine. She grabbed my arm and shook it. “What was that?” she hissed in my ear.

  “What?” I pulled my hair around to one side and wrapped it around my fist, curling the ends. I’d spent all morning making big waves and taming flyaways, so I shouldn’t be nervous about how it looked. I tossed it behind me. My Gabe-dar was doing its thing, following Gabe to his seat on the other side of the room, third row back like he was a dot on a screen in my head.

  “Gabe was watching you—like, the whole time. He almost shut the door on me.”

  I coughed to cover my laugh. “Yeah, right. The hottest player on the baseball team was staring at me.”

  A slow, knowing grin crept across Harper’s cheeks. “I never said he was hot.”

  I rolled my eyes. “A leftover from a conversation with Addison. I went to the cages last night to get in some extra batting practice, and she was jealous.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Mr. Larson hopped up from his desk. I swear the man lived to torment us with sine, cosine, and tangent formulas. I sat up straighter and flipped open my notebook. If I didn’t get an A in this class, I was going to throw a tangent.

  Feeling a pair of eyes on me, I turned to catch Gabe watching me with his head cocked to the side. When our eyes met, he turned quickly away.

  My heart sped up to surprise speed again.

  I did my best to keep up with the teacher as we covered secant, but it took almost all of my concentration not to see if Gabe was watching me again. The stupid thing was, I kind of wanted him to, and that confused me more than the geometry lesson.

  Chapter 6

  Day two of practice in the cages consisted of me sneaking in while Mr. Washington’s back was turned and Gabe rushing him out the door before I could start hitting.

  Ugh! I hated sneaking around. It made me feel like the forbidden girlfriend or something.

  Gabe and I hardly spoke, both of us in a hurry to leave. I still hadn’t apologized for saying mean things and totally judging him. He’d been nice enough at school, but it wasn’t like we were suddenly best friends. It was more like I was now on his radar, whereas before I’d been invisible. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that and ended my session with a scowl.

  When I was doing my best not to think about Gabe during school, I’d end up stressing over my swing. Two nights of work hadn’t yielded positive results. Whoever said practice makes perfect hadn’t sat through one of my sessions.

  I turned in my English essay, nervous about the teacher’s response. I’d reread it right before handing it in and couldn’t see any holes. It just didn’t feel right, and I couldn’t put my finger on why.

  The third night of cleaning bathrooms and batting practice, I brought my own gear so I wouldn’t have to stop at the counter and actually have a conversation with Gabe. I didn’t see his dad’s Jag in the parking lot, so I figured it was safe to head in. At the last second, I grabbed a Boston ball cap and slapped it over my after-practice hair. I’m no princess on the field, but for some reason, I didn’t want to walk in looking like I’d just run a mile—which I had. Coach Hayes made the whole team run because she liked to punish us on a regular basis. I guess that was a head coach’s prerogative.

  The never-ending noise from the arcade games ker-powed and whooped hello as I breezed through the door. Gabe was by the Skee-Ball machine. He had the front open and was stocking tickets. Stacy hovered over him, bending low so the front of her shirt dropped open.

  I tripped at the sight of her. Stacy and I didn’t have the best track record. We’d tangled in gym class in the seventh grade when she’d tried to cheat during a soccer game. I’d called her out on it. I can’t stand a cheater. Win or lose, you own it. She’d shoved me and called me a five-letter word. Seeing red, I’d lunged, grabbing her around the middle and throwing her over my back like my dad used to do when I was a kid—only he would hold on to my ankles as I giggled upside down. Stacy landed on the grass with a yelp, cried hard enough that her mascara ran, and never came near me again. It all happened so fast the teacher missed it, and neither of us got in trouble for fighting. It was the only fight I’d ever been in, and I was a little proud of the fact that I’d won. I’d gotten a rep for being tough, and that kept the MGs off my back and away from my friends. It may have frightened a few boys away too, bu
t whatever. If they couldn’t handle a strong woman, that was their problem.

  Gabe’s head popped up before I had a chance to interrupt their conversation. “Hey, Summer.”

  “What cage?” I asked, not wanting to stand around and chat with my old nemesis. I swear she was plotting ways to murder me in my sleep as she stood mute by Gabe’s side.

  Gabe held up four fingers, and I nodded. “Hey, Stacy.” I grinned wickedly. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t as grown-up as I pretended to be in front of my sisters. The fact that she was here, standing too close to Gabe while he worked, bugged me.

  She stared at her nails and ignored me. Fine.

  “What’s she doing here?” Stacy asked as I walked away.

  My shoulders tightened as I strained harder to hear his answer. Don’t tell her, I silently begged him. Stacy wasn’t the type of person you trusted with a secret arrangement. Besides, I didn’t need her knowing I was too poor to pay my way.

  “Practicing.”

  Gabe’s answer must have been good enough for Stacy, because she followed that up quickly with, “Do you want to grab a burger after closing?”

  I was too far away to hear Gabe’s response. I wrinkled my nose at the thought of those two together. Three days ago, I would have said they deserved each other, but Gabe had opened the door to math class three days running—a fact that Harper would not let me forget.

  Aaaand he’d said hi to me several times in the hallway. You’d think after the first time, I wouldn’t be so shocked that he considered us acquaintances, but my heart sped up every time.

  Every. Time.

  I cleared my mind as I shut the chain-link door behind me. I needed to pull it together tonight. Coach Mackensie had asked me if I was getting extra practice in. I told her yes, and she looked so relieved it scared me. I knew I was off my game, but the threat of being cut became really real in that moment.

  I swung at several pitches, missing each. The bat weighed fifty pounds in my hands, making me lumber instead of glide through the movements. I sniffed back the tears. This was no time to cry. I needed to buckle down. Work harder. Push through the wall. I loaded my swing and whiffed it at another ball. It hit the pad behind me and dropped just like my dreams of a scholarship.

  “Do you want to know what you’re doing wrong?”

  I jumped at Gabe’s voice so close. He was standing on the other side of the door, his fingers hooked in the chain link, all casual and hot. His brown eyes were sharp—like he’d taken a measure of me and I’d come up short.

  “What?” I spat as I tapped the end of my bat on the base.

  “Do you want some help?”

  “What, you’re a batting coach too?” I turned away from him, staring at the next ball as it dropped through the machine. I counted the seconds until it released and swung, twisting hard enough that I stumbled. “Go away,” I told him through gritted teeth. It was bad enough that I sucked—I didn’t need Mr. Perfect Swing telling me how. Tears were a real possibility, and I couldn’t handle him watching me cry.

  “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  Ugh! He was so calm. So collected. I fouled off the next ball. And the next.

  Gabe walked to the middle of the room, where the pitching machines pointed outward like spokes on a bike. Each time he dumped a bucket of balls into the grabber, it sounded like hail on a metal roof.

  I wanted to pat myself on the back for making contact, but a foul ball was far from where I needed to be. Another ten strikes and I was humbled enough to take anyone’s help—even Gabe’s. “Fine!” I called to him.

  “What?” He cupped his ear. Just like him to make me beg for it.

  He offered help earlier, argued the rational side of my brain, and you verbally spat on him.

  No one asked you! I mentally argued back.

  This guy was making me insane. I took a deep breath in, willing my anger and nerves and inner turmoil to take a pill and relax. “I said I would like a few pointers.”

  He broke into a grin, one that was pure happy, like a kid who opened his lunch to find out his mom had put in Oreos instead of the generic knock-offs. He made his way out of the machine and into cage number four.

  I twisted the bat around in my hands. I’d asked for his advice, so it was time to put on my big-girl panties and take the criticism.

  Gabe hit the pause button on the wall and turned, folding his arms. “All right, get up to the plate.”

  I gritted my teeth, because they started to tingle the minute his warm voice floated over my skin. My mouth went dry and my legs were weak at best. I wouldn’t be able to hit a ball if it was coming right at my face, not with him looking so intently at me.

  “Swing,” he commanded.

  I did, feeling stupid and awkward. I pulled the bat back to my right shoulder.

  Gabe moved to stand behind me. I thought he was going to watch me swing again, so I loaded my swing. Instead, his arms came around me and his hands covered mine on the bat.

  “What are you doing?” Heat filled my neck and my face, rising like the red line of a thermometer. Gabe was everywhere. His breath was on my neck. His spicy warm scent was in my nose. His hands were firm and warm over mine. My brain buzzed—total Gabe overload.

  “I’m leveling out your swing,” he said, his voice right next to my ear. Soft. Sweet. Deep.

  He pushed against the bat and brought it around. It wobbled, but that was my fault. My arms were stiff. I prayed he wouldn’t notice.

  “Would you relax?”

  Crap. He’d noticed. “I can’t. Not with you literally breathing down my neck.” His breath was warm and smelled like mint. Mixed with his body spray, the combo made my knees shake.

  He went still, and I had the strangest feeling that we fit together just right. He was a couple inches taller, but that made it easier for him to wrap his arms around me. I turned my head and found that our chins lined up. Which meant our lips did too. And I was staring right into his brown eyes, seeing all sorts of Gabe that I’d never seen before.

  Gabe bumped my forehead with his, playfully.

  I blinked in surprise.

  “You’re not so bad-looking when you’re not glaring at the world.”

  It took a moment for my brain to process what he’d said. Was that supposed to be a compliment? “Gee. Thanks.” I added extra sarcasm sauce to my voice and pushed back with my shoulder, creating space between us.

  “Wait—that’s not what—”

  “Don’t.” I shook my head quickly. I didn’t need to hear him stumble through some sort of explanation as to why he’d thought I was ugly up until that moment. “Let’s just forget you said anything.”

  He studied me, his eyes delving into mine. I held his gaze, daring him to push it. He didn’t. Maybe Stacy had warned him about my temper.

  He released one arm and tugged on the bat with his other hand. I gave it to him, thankful for the chance to breath in the rubbery smell of the cages instead of his delicious manly body spray. Dang, it could have rubbed off on my shirt, he’d been so close. I was so going to smell-check this shirt when I got home. Even though I had no interest in Gabe Washington, there was nothing wrong with appreciating a well-made product.

  Gabe got into a batter’s stance and swung the bat in slow motion. “You’re pushing your back shoulder down and compensating by dropping your hands.”

  My brain lit up with the information. I could feel the truth in his words—like my muscles were shouting, Yes! We’ve been trying to tell you this for weeks.

  “Keep your hands closer to your body, and you’ll increase your accuracy and power.”

  I mimicked his movements. They felt good. Right. I reached for my bat, anxious to give it a try. It felt like a feather in my hands.

  Gabe stepped back and pressed the resume button.

  The machine chugged and clunked to life. I twisted my grip and then loaded my swing. The ball appeared in a flash of neon green. I tracked its progress through the machine until it launched tow
ards the plate. I swung, keeping my hands in and my shoulder up.

  Ting! The ball sailed right back at the machine with a beautiful arc that would have landed it behind second base. It was a solid single. I spun, grinning at Gabe.

  “Don’t look at me.” He shooed me with his hands. “The next ball’s coming.”

  I locked in and swung. Another single, this one over the shortstop. I’d take it. I wanted to jump and scream, but the next ball was already coming.

  Gabe slipped out of the cage with a rattle of the chain link. I breathed deep, tightening my core for the next swing and repeating his words over and over. Shoulder up, hands close. Shoulder up. Hands close.

  I didn’t get every ball, but I got more than I had the night before. Progress felt so good that I floated. No more sliding back. From here on out, I was going to master my swing.

  I cleaned the bathrooms in record time and met Gabe by the front door. He was tapping his foot and staring at his phone.

  “Thanks for the help.” I smiled.

  He didn’t look up.

  I glanced down to see Stacy’s pic at the top of his screen and back up to see him frown deeply. “Is something the matter?”

  “What?” His head popped up. “No. I need to be somewhere. Are you done?”

  Oh. He had a date with Stacy. So that’s how it was. When his girlfriend was around or wanted his time, I was invisible. But if she was gone, I was cool enough to snuggle up with in batting cage.

  Whatever! “I’m so done.” I shoved out the door and into the chilly air, wrapping my coat tighter around me. My car was frigid and my hands shook with the cold as I turned the key once, then again, before it shook to life. It could have been worse. I could have actually liked that jerk.

  Chapter 7

  Ting. The ball shot off my bat fifteen feet straight up, where it bounced off the ceiling and landed hard next to my shoe.