The Natural History of Us Page 3

  Maybe it was too soon.

  For the first time since I’d convinced my parents to let me come here, true doubt washed over me. Staring at the discarded schedule, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d pushed for too much, too fast. If I really should sit out another semester.

  Mom would be euphoric. If I went home, Dad would dance a jig. I’d be back in virtual bubble wrap, right where they wanted to keep me.

  And I—I’d prove that I really was as pathetic as I’d thought.

  A dark head suddenly appeared in my vision, blocking my view of my schedule lying helplessly on the brown tile. Blinking away memories of my hospital bed and the sad faces of the nurses, I focused on the gelled strands below me and then the pair of equally dark eyes that replaced them. Eyes that stared into me with a sharp smugness like they could read all my secrets. And see straight through my blouse.

  Whoa, hot boy alert!

  A slow lopsided grin stretched the boy’s mouth, confirmation of his mad mindreading skills. He held up my schedule and asked, “Slippery fingers?”

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 7TH

  21 Weeks until Disaster

  ♥Freshman Year

  JUSTIN

  FAIRFIELD ACADEMY BASEBALL FIELD 3:25 P.M.

  She was back.

  I’d been beginning to think I’d imagined her. After rocking my world with her breathy hi, her thick strawberry blonde hair, and eyes that stunned me senseless, the girl had just disappeared. She wasn’t in any of my classes, I never saw her waiting after school, and as dumb as it was to admit, I’d actually looked. Casually at first, just curious, then more determined when she never showed. I could’ve asked the guys, but then they’d have known a girl had gotten to me. And that, like a jackass, I’d never even gotten her name, much less her number. But now, here she was. A goddess cheering in the stands, watching as I was about to make the team.

  Hot girl was a baseball fan. That worked well for me.

  “Friend of yours?”

  I tore my gaze away from the bleachers and found a guy smirking above me. He was the same one who always cracked jokes in my math class. “Not yet,” I replied, emphasis on the yet, letting him know I had dibs. I switched sides, stretching out my other hamstring and added, “Just laying groundwork for now.”

  If stalking the hallways counted as groundwork.

  Hoping to learn her name, I looked up and casually asked, “She in any of your classes?”

  “Nah, I’d remember a sweet face like that.” He stole another peek and whistled low. “And into baseball, too? Damn, dude, what is up with you and girls? Every time I see you, you’ve got another one wrapped around you. You’re like the chick whisperer.”

  I laughed and shook out my legs, muscles warm and ready. Girls were one of the few things that came easily to me. That, and playing ball. “What can I say? I have a gift.”

  With nothing left to stretch, I pushed to my feet to assess the competition. Sophomore team tryouts started in five minutes, but the diamond began filling with guys about a half hour ago, math-class dude being one of them. It didn’t matter, though. One way or another, I was making an impression today.

  Fairfield Academy had one of the best programs in the state. They were district champ three years running and bi-district champs the year before that—the year Coach Williams took over. The man knew his shit, he was tough but fair, and I was determined to play for him. I’d even approached him in the fall to see how I could prepare for today.

  “Think you got a shot at making it?” I asked, curious what position this guy played. Cool or not, if he was a catcher I’d have to beat him out. No way could he outplay me. And there wasn’t a chance in hell this meant more to him.

  “Hope so.” He hopped up and adjusted his ball cap. “From what I hear, Coach skips playmakers through to Varsity at the end of the year.” I nodded, having heard the same thing, and he looked me over, sizing me up before holding out his hand. “Carlos Ramirez, shortstop.”

  Grinning, I took it and said, “Justin Carter, catcher.”

  “All right, gentlemen!” At Coach Williams’s voice we both turned and then hustled over to the pitcher’s mound. “This is how it’s gonna go. We have stations set up to monitor your fielding, your ground ball work, and live hitting in the cage. Give me everything you’ve got today, and I promise, I’ll be watching. Results are posted on Monday, and let me just say this now, so we’re clear—if you don’t make it this round, it just means you weren’t ready. We hold tryouts every year, and I hope you’ll consider coming back out next January.”

  His gaze slid over the group, now up to over thirty guys trying out for the same fifteen spots. I couldn’t speak for everyone else, but only one thing was going through my mind: one of those spots was mine.

  Coach popped his gum and asked, “Everyone ready?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  My voice was clear and strong among the chorus, and even though I was just one of many, he turned his head and looked me straight in the eye. Nodding once he said, “Let’s get to work.”

  ***

  “Looking pretty good out there.”

  I capped my water bottle on the sidelines, a minute into our five-minute water break, and glanced up into the stands. Hot girl was smiling at me. She’d spent most of the last hour reading a paperback or with her face lifted to the sun like a human sunflower. Occasionally she’d cheer for guys who missed at bat or made a mistake, but I only caught her watching me once. I’d made sure to nail it when she did.

  “So you have been watching me,” I replied, smiling wider when she blushed. “Hey now, don’t be embarrassed. It’s only natural you’d watch the hottest guy out here.”

  A breathless laugh escaped her lips. “Wow.” Setting her book on her lap, she smiled back, an open, sweet kind of smile without any hint of flirtation. “What is it about ball players and egos the size of Texas?” She shook her head and said, “My daddy warned me about guys like you.”

  “Girl, your dad never met a guy like me, because I’m an original.”

  Honestly, I had no idea where this shit came from. Half the time, I sounded like a total moron—but girls ate it up.

  Hot girl scrunched her nose. “Does that kind of line usually work?”

  I laughed out loud. “Ninety-nine percent of the time.”

  Either I had no game with this girl, she had a boyfriend, or she wasn’t into hooking up, which was all I did. But still, something kept me from walking. “You got a name, pretty girl?”

  That sweet grin returned as she said, “Lord, you’re just one bad line after another, aren’t you?”

  Definitely no game. “Fine, I’ll just make one up then.”

  I squinted up at her, tapping my water bottle against my thigh and feeling that smile all the way down to my toes. Remembering the way she held her face to the sun, I lifted a finger and declared, “Sunshine. Your name’s Sunshine.”

  “Ahh, so I’m a hippie,” she said, pursing her lips. They were soft pink, natural, and didn’t appear to have any lipstick. Her entire face was makeup-free, and now that I thought about it, she hadn’t worn any that first day either. Sunshine laughed softly and tilted her head to study me. After a moment she said, “I’m Peyton.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” I teased, and she rolled her eyes. “And, since I know you’re dying to ask, I’m just gonna tell you. My name is Justin.”

  “And here I just assumed it was Trouble.”

  Right there. Any other girl delivering that line and she’d have been flirting. Not this girl, though. She meant it. “I’m hurt, Peyton, really. Making snap judgments when all I’ve done is give you compliments and hand over your schedule after you dropped it.”

  A schedule I should’ve paid more attention to.

  For the briefest second, a shadow passed over her face and I wondered what it meant. But then it was gone and she was back to busting my balls. “Exactly. And why were you in the front office that day, huh? Called to see the principal on
the first day of the new semester.” She tsked in disapproval and pointed at me. “Trouble.”

  “Actually, I was there to change my classes around.” I didn’t know why it mattered so much what she thought. Peyton was fun to talk to and she was definitely easy on the eyes, but it was obvious she wasn’t my usual type.

  But still…

  “I’m gonna make the team today,” I told her, “and I need my unstructured period to be the hour before lunch. That’s when Coach holds office hours in the athletic department, and I’ve heard he talks strategy with players who are there.”

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You’re dedicated. He’ll like that.”

  Okay. “And you’d know this—”

  A sharp whistle blasted from the pitcher’s mound, cutting me off. I turned to see Coach waving us back out and quickly took a final pull off my water.

  “Gotta go,” I said, recapping the bottle and tossing it to the ground. “See you around?”

  She pursed her lips like she wanted to say no, but she nodded. Then, leaning forward on the bleachers, she said, “You know, he’s not just watching what you do out there. He’s watching how you do it. And remember, don’t be afraid to sacrifice yourself for the team.”

  This was the strangest girl I’d ever met. If this was her idea of flirting, she must have a lot of older brothers. Regardless, they were good tips, so I said, “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Touching the brim of my hat, I spun on my heel and jogged onto the field, ready to show the man that I idolized what I could do.

  Making this team was everything to me. It meant finding my place in this school, proving myself in front of one of the best catchers to play college ball, and maybe getting Dad to take notice. Baseball was one of the few things he loved more than money, so it was possible he’d make a couple games. And now, even though she was obviously not my normal type, Sunshine had given me one more reason to do well today.

  I wanted her to watch me kick ass.

  MONDAY, MAY 12TH

  3 Weeks until Graduation

  ♥Senior Year

  JUSTIN

  FAMILY AND CONSUMER SCIENCES 1:50 P.M.

  “Sorry for the interruption,” Coach Stasi says as she walks back through the door and closes it behind her. “While I was gone, I trust that you looked over the packet and found your one true love?”

  She says this like it’s a joke instead of what it really is—a bloody disaster.

  “For those of you who didn’t just skip right to the end, you may’ve noticed the first group date is tomorrow night. Now the school is footing the bill, but I know it’s still extremely short notice. A local restaurant has agreed to open their doors early for us and this is the only night they can do it this month.”

  On the whiteboard, she writes the name Carmela’s, a local Tex-Mex restaurant, and circles it. “I realize many of you have practices and jobs, so if for any reason you’re unable to attend, just schedule a time to see me with your partner and we’ll find another way to complete the first assignment. After all, compromise is what marriage is all about!” She smiles again then points to us with the dry-erase marker. “Write that down.”

  Coach goes on to talk about other assignments and lessons, and how they will all be used to help write the on-going final paper, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. I can’t hear past the echo of Peyton’s laugh, or see beyond the furious twirling of her hair. Her foot tap-tap-tapping on the ground. Those old familiar tics cut a gaping hole in my chest and I suck wind to keep from doing something incredibly stupid. Like call out, Sunshine.

  Damn, I miss her.

  “So, any word from the old man about the game?” Carlos asks, and when I look over, he sets his phone down with a relieved smile. Things must be better in Gabi-land. At least for now.

  Not wanting to let on how much Peyton has affected me, I strive for casual. “You mean other than the list of training suggestions he slipped under my door, or the reminder that scouts are still watching?” The grin falls from my friend’s face, and I shrug. “No, but I’m not surprised.”

  Saturday night, our team won the bi-district championship. Since my father’s company is the team’s biggest booster, you’d think he’d have been there. You’d think wrong.

  “Maybe he’ll show for the area round.”

  “Yeah, I’m not holding my breath.” The last time anyone in my family saw me play was freshman year, and that was only because Dad’s boss was in town. Fake interest in your son’s ability while schmoozing the bigwigs. That’s rule one in Mitch Carter’s parenting playbook. “Besides, Abuelita screams enough for two of him.”

  His goofy grin slides back as he says, “More like curses the umpire, you mean.”

  Carlos is one of the few people who know what a dick my father is and his loco en la cabeza family pretty much adopted me years ago. They’re the ones who cheer my name at games, hound me about my grades, and relentlessly nag me about girls. And I mean relentlessly.

  “She’s already planning a graduation party,” he says, pretending to write down whatever notes Coach is putting on the board. “The whole family’s gonna be there.” He pauses a moment, shifts uncomfortably in his seat, then adds, “She, uh, she also said you should bring a girl—as long as it isn’t a ‘hussy.’”

  He lifts his fingers in air-quotes and rolls his eyes in a, “hey, she’s my grandmother and she’s crazy,” sort of way, but I suddenly sit up straight as an idea hits me. That woman’s a genius.

  Planting my feet on the floor, I grab the packet. I thumb through the long list of group dates, taking note of all the partner-time required (a lot), and a rush of endorphins floods my bloodstream. My heart pounds just like it did when I tagged out Jefferson to win last night’s game, and when a relieved exhale parts my lips, I hear Carlos say, “Uh oh.”

  “What?” I ask distractedly.

  “You’ve got that psycho look in your eyes.” I raise my eyes and he waves a finger back and forth in front of my face. “The same one you had before we egged Crestmont High last week. You’re planning something.”

  Adrenaline bounces my knee. “Maybe I am.”

  My hand beats out a rhythm on my thigh as I realize that this is exactly what I’d been waiting for. The answer to the itch under my skin. My extreme restlessness. It’s not a new feeling—if I were honest, it’s been on a low simmer for years. Being with Aly just brought it to a boil. I’ve been numb ever since I lost Peyton, and this… this insane project is my chance to finally make things right.

  “Tell Abuelita I’ll be there,” I say, returning my gaze to the back of Peyton’s head. “And that I’ll be bringing a girl even she can’t complain about.” From the corner of my eye, I see him stare at me in confusion. “I’m bringing my wife.”

  Carlos’s mouth opens in a mix of shock and doubt and I don’t blame him. I saw Peyton’s reaction, too. But I have three whole weeks between now and then, and a plan taking shape in my mind.

  Peyton may think she hates me, but that’s only because she doesn’t know the total truth. Soon, that’ll change—but I can’t rush it. I have to start small. Ease into it. Use these dates and outings to show her how much I’ve changed since I was fifteen and screwed everything up.

  But I will do it.

  “Mark my words, Carlos,” I say, feeling excited about a girl for the first time in a very long time. But then, that’s because it’s not just any girl; it’s my girl. She just doesn’t know it yet. “I’m gonna be the best damn husband in this entire class.”

  He looks at me uncertainly, but that doesn’t faze me. I won’t let it. I know I don’t deserve it. Hell, I never deserved her. But I’m not letting anything stop me. Not this time. Thanks to Coach Stasi, I’m going to remind Peyton of all the reasons she fell for me in the first place.

  And then I’m going to make her do it again.

  TUESDAY, MAY 13TH

  3 Weeks until Graduation

  ♥Senior Year

 
PEYTON

  CARMELA’S RESTAURANT 4:35 P.M.

  You know what would rock? A delete button for life. A magical way to erase memories and unwanted feelings. The tingles, the lingering hope. The little things you never thought you’d miss, like simply talking to the boy you once loved, or not talking because you didn’t need to. You already know all there is to know. Breakups are crappy any way you slice it, but the worst part, even worse than seeing the boy who once owned your heart now happy with someone else, is going from speaking every day, hanging out, and sharing all aspects of your life, to nothing.

  Zip, zilch, nada, thanks for playing.

  “Remember that night the mariachi band dragged you onstage?” Justin flashes the lopsided grin that still haunts my dreams as he slides across the cushioned bench. “You shook a mean maraca.”

  Sitting down, I squeeze my eyes shut as the night in question floods my mind, along with a dozen others. Of course I remember it. And, of course, the hostess would choose to seat us in the same booth we sat in that night, our three-month anniversary. I’m at the point where I expect the universe to mess with me now.

  “Stop.” I lift my hands and shake my head, needing it all just to stop. Taking a deep breath, I crack open my eyes and resort to begging. “Please, whatever it is you’re trying to do, can you just… not? This is hard enough without your walks down memory lane, okay?”

  I’ve decided that I must have royally screwed someone over in a past life to deserve this twisted brand of torture. Tonight’s game plan? Experiencing the “joys of newlywed dining.”

  When your groom happens to be your ex? Not so joyous.

  I keep blinking, waiting to wake up to my Bob Marley alarm and have it still be Monday. I’ll walk into FACS, ignore Lauren altogether, and this time, Coach will stick to the normal lesson plan.