Page 2 of Meet Me Under the Lights

Oh. “Right. A really cute cat.”

I fixed my sequin-and-feather-covered mask so I could see better and gave a once-around to Tracey’s house. Her parents always traveled at the beginning of summer, giving Tracey and her older brother dibs on the first official party of summer vacation for the last several years. Warm beer or horribly sweet mixed drinks sloshed around in everyone’s cups, and phones were out or close by because something always went down at Tracey’s.

Lauryn adjusted her gray-and-pink pointed ears. “Okay, serious question. How’s my tail? Too poufy?” She whirled around and bumped into two girls who were all over each other.

One of them whined and flipped her mermaid wig. “Hey!”

“Please. Get a room.” As the girls staggered away, she wiggled her butt at me. “So?”

“The tail is perfect. Go get ’em.”

The front storm door opened, and a group of costumed boys stood beneath its frame. The entire room slowed down to watch these outsiders make an entrance as the music changed. One looked a little familiar, but getting a clear glimpse of him through this crowd? Impossible.

Not that it mattered.

In our small town, a group of strangers this time of year could mean only one thing: Diamond Boys.

When new crews of ballplayers came in from all over the state to play for Dad’s baseball team hoping to impress college scouts and earn extra conditioning over the summer, the locals threw out all the stops—discounts to anyone holding a ball game ticket or program, closed businesses on game days, free ice cream to the winning team.

Going to a baseball game was as common and routine in this town as going to church, maybe even more so. Just like the opening pitch signaled spring, the Legion League signaled summer. Dad had a good reputation for his players going D1, getting invited to showcases, sometimes to the minors after a summer season. His boys were the best of the best, so the town treated them like homegrown celebrities.

Still…I had met most of Dad’s team already. These boys didn’t look like any of them.

Tracey hurried dutifully over to the newbies, her poufy cotton tail bouncing over black leggings, with a few of her friends, dressed as various animals, scurrying behind her.

It was like the costume designer from Chicago dressed Snow White’s woodland posse.

“Who are those guys?” Lauryn stood on her tiptoes.

I shrugged. “Who knows…”

“I’ll tell you who they are,” a voice slurred next to my ear.

I cringed at the overpowering and familiar smell of whiskey and ginger ale.

Truth: My cousin TJ was equally annoying whether he was drunk or sober.

Lauryn flicked the front of TJ’s pirate hat, which was too small to go over his blond, curly mohawk. “What are you supposed to be, Teej?” she asked. “A biker pirate? Oh! A birate? Or maybe a pirker…piraker…”

“I won the hat from some idiot freshman who bet me I wouldn’t walk across the peak of Tracey’s roof.” He took a quick swig from his cup and set it down.

“So you’re drinking and scaling roofs. Wow.” I quickly swapped his cup out for my can of Coke.

“You know me. I never back down from a bet.”

“Yeah, we know.” Lauryn crossed her arms. “My mom says the other nurses in the ER still talk about that stunt you pulled last summer at the railyard.”

TJ beamed. “That backflip was one of my best. It’s not my fault the others decided to try it.” He paused and leaned against the wall, his hat sliding down over one of his eyebrows. “We can go for a walk outside, Lauryn. Talk about it some more if you want.”

TJ had been crushing on my best friend since we were kids. But Lauryn was the queen of playing hard to get.

“No, thanks.” She pointed across the room. “I’ve got my eye on something better.”

TJ followed her gaze and cursed. “Those guys? Ha. They’re nothing but farmer trash trying to take away my family’s trophies. Bunch of low-life hicks…”

My ears buzzed. “Wait. What do you mean, take away our family’s trophies?”

TJ gawked at me like I came from another planet, an alien blip on his baseball radar. And then his eyes changed to his common mischievous-daredevil expression. I called it “the TJ.”