Page 110 of Chasing Headlines
“Part of my charm.” I tilted my head and shrugged.
She laughed. “Is that what they call it? Your baseball menace should just accept that he's in over his head when it comes to you.”
“My money's on Liv!” Cathy called out as she walked by. She tossed a snack pack of oreos at me—without warning. It hit me in the cheek and dropped into my lap.
“Who throws cookies?” I complained, but quickly ripped open the small bag. Hilda held out a hand, and I deposited two oreos in her palm.
“Still bad at fielding. You were terrible at softball.”
I chewed my bite of chocolatey and crème yumminess, and swallowed. “Meh. I can pitch.”
“Not underhand.”
“Seemed pointless. Besides, my brother taught me. Who cares about softball?”
She shrugged and stuffed a cookie in her mouth as she moved back to her textbook. She stared at it for a moment, sipped at her water, then looked up at me and frowned. “Why does it bother you that you and Coop don't get along?”
“Going for a psych cert? Should I lay on the couch?” I yawned. “Could go for a nap.”
“Just answer and stop being such a pain in the ass.”
“I don't know, I really don't. I couldn't help but follow his high school career. The same as I followed Tanner's and, oh, oh, that centerfielder from Alterra High, um Robby Gentry. He faded out, moved way down in the rankings his senior year.” I eyed Hilda's second, untouched cookie. My stomach growled.
“I don't remember. There have been so many.”
“And when Ry Hibara came over for that exhibition? Woah. Did my research on him. He washot.” The poor cookie looked lonely. I was about to ask if I could be its friend when Hilda snagged it, holding it up.
“I never know whether that means they're just good at baseball?” She squinched up one side of her face. “Or if you think he'll be good at, um, you know, using his bat.” She dissected the poor oreo, licking at the crème filling. She paused and gave me a narrowed-eye glance.
“Well, that wasn't a particularly sexy euphemism, but I'll give you an A for effort.”
She threw up her hands. “English is hard!”
“Fair. Just maybe stick to something about bases next time.”
She sighed. “These cookies just made me hungrier.”
“Same.”
“So, you’re not going to admit why Coop bothers you?”
“What am I not admitting? That he’s an amazing baseball player and primo jerkwad wrapped all in one?” I leaned back against the couch cushion and huffed. “Fine, I admit it.”
“Liv, I know you. You didn’t follow his career like all the others. You watched every interview, every at-bat, read every scouting report with his name on it.”
“I read lots of?—”
“You built him up in your head. He must be an amazingguybecause he plays good baseball. And then turns out he’s not what you imagined. That’s not on him, that’s onyou, chica.” She nudged my knee, and I sat up to look at her.
“No one can live up to your brother,” she said. “I doubt even your brother could live up to who you’ve made him out to be.”
“Sage advice from someone with cookie crumbs on her face.”
“Ach! Liv, why can’t you be serious?” She griped at the ceiling.
“I admired him, ok? Is that what you want to hear? I admired him. And I wanted him to like me.” I closed my eyes and remembered what it felt like to have his arm around me. To be so close I could feel the heat of his body through his shirt. It lit . . . unmentionable places inside me. A shiver started where his palm rested against my back, tiptoeing warm sparkles up my spine. A deep-seated urge took root—to lean into him, rest my head against his chest and believe he could care.
“Didn’t have to be romantic, but just not see me as someone out to hurt him. When I’ve been on his side.”