Page 115 of Last Night Was Fun

Beth stepped forward with another flip of her sheet of hair, ready to play the part. Emmy nervously chewed her lip and strained her eyes to see down to the field. Everyone was still too far away to make out. She scanned for Gabe’s familiar wave of hair, his arms in tight sleeves, but nearly everyone down there had arms in tight sleeves and was wearing a hat.

“Don’t you know who this is?” Emmy heard Pedro plead while she stepped to the side, looking for an alternative solution.

They were so close to the starting lineups announcement and the national anthem. And then first pitch, and the game would be in full swing. Emmy’s chance was now. But where was Gabe?

In her desperate scan of the stands and field, she saw a small crewwith a camera pointed at an in-game reporter chatting with a pair of fans midway down the seating section. The live feed was being broadcast on the outfield scoreboard forty feet high. They were in the middle of some trivia game the whole stadium was cheering on.

An idea struck Emmy at the same time her knees almost gave out. It was desperate and might get her banished from the ballpark for life, but it would get the job done.

She threw a glance at Pedro and Beth continuing the charade of being important by proxy and decided her idea had a better shot at success.

“Go big,” she muttered. Before she could talk herself out of it, she shoved around them and hurried down the stairs.

“Hey!” the security member shouted after her.

“Sorry! I won’t be long!” Emmy called over her shoulder. She flew down the stairs, her shoes scraping the gummy concrete, and all but threw herself at the film crew.

“Last chance to win!” the reporter singsonged at the two beaming fans in front of her.

Emmy bumped into the cameraman, jostling the shot in her attempt to get close enough, and reached for the microphone the reporter held.

“What in the—?” the reporter said, and jerked back.

“Sorry! I just need to borrow this for a second.” Emmy shoved her way in front of the camera and yanked the microphone out of her grip before anyone could stop her. Everyone was too shocked to react. “Gabe!” she shouted at the camera lens. The reality of her actions didn’t fully hit her until she heard her own voice echoing around the stadium like a rock show. But she couldn’t stop now. Surely she had but seconds before they cut the feed.

“Gabe! I’m here. I came here to find you. I read your message, and I’m so sorry. I misunderstood what I thought I heard. I know you’d never lie to me about anything this important. And I agree: that fake number was the best thing that ever happened to me too.Youare thebest thing that ever happened to me. And what I said in the hallway the other day about how I feel—I still feel it, even more now. I’ve figured out how to quantify my feelings too. They are greater than. As in, greater than everything. I want to tell you to your face. So please, if you’re here, I hope you are listening.” Emmy hadn’t realized fifty thousand people were staring at her on the scoreboard and had just heard her confession until she stopped talking. Her heart pounded and her breath rushed into the microphone. Surely she was about to be tackled by security and hauled out. Surely the cameraman was about to drop his lens, the microphone was going to cut out, and the scoreboard was going to go back to advertisements.

But none of that happened.

The whole stadium seemed to be holding its breath.

Emmy looked around in terror as everyone looked at her, either on the scoreboard or from the nearby seats. The expectant silence expanded into an eternity.

“Where’s Gabe?” a man shouted from a section over. It was quiet enough that his voice rang out into the open space. Other fans started murmuring. Echoes ofWhere’s Gabe?rippled around the crowd.

The reporter whose microphone Emmy had stolen pressed her fingers to her earpiece, clearly listening to instruction from the other side. Emmy expected her to snatch the mic back, but she nodded and dropped her hand. She gestured at Emmy as if to say,The floor is yours.

Emmy gaped at her in shock. She hadn’t planned for her idea to work at all, let alone to be given permission to keep talking. She glanced back at Pedro and Beth. The security guard had given up trying to restrain them. Everyone was too invested to pay attention to anything else.

“Gabe! Come get your girl!” one of the players hollered from the field, hands cupped around his mouth. It sent a roaring cheer up from the nearby fans. Soon, a chant broke out.

“Gabe! Gabe! Gabe!”

The whole stadium was in on it.

Emmy was aflame with embarrassment and hope at the same time. She silently prayed he was listening, and she wasn’t about to experience the most humiliating rejection in history. Aside from the scoreboard camera, dozens of smartphones were aimed at her, surely streaming her desperate confession online. She smiled into the camera. “I’m behind home plate, first base side,” she said. She nearly had to shout over the chanting crowd. “Are you here?”

The chant carried on, everyone looking side to side for the mysterious Gabe. Emmy’s heart raced until she felt like it might give out. And then it slowed when nothing happened. No one appeared. The chanting died down, and Emmy felt like she could sink into the earth. Her smile faded, and she lowered the mic. The reporter gave her a sad look like she’d been hoping for a storybook ending. The nearby fans began to murmur. Her heart somehow managed to split another crack.

And then a small cheer went up out near right field.

Emmy snapped her head up to see a familiar figure jogging across the outfield lawn, coming in from the bullpen. She knew the long strides, the swing of his arms. The feel of her heart surging in the knowledge he was near.

“Gabe!” a woman in the nearby seats shouted and pointed. “Is that him?”

“Oh my god, it’s Gabe!” someone else said.

“It’s him!”