Page 14 of Fair Ball

“But then how will I know who is a serial killer and who isn’t? Monsters walk among us.”

She grates out a laugh. “You are too funny.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I think Austin thinks so too. He seemed like he… All the stories about him are how he’s this really mean, rough guy, but I thought he was nice. Caught him almost smiling a time or two.”

Mom reaches out to squeeze my knee. “You’re a very likable person.”

I wasn’t always likable. I interrupted people a lot. I only wanted to talk about animals. I cried often in school. I had a natural aptitude for academics but couldn’t get the hang of the other kids. I didn’t like the games they played at recess and was horrible at sports, but I kept hearing over and over from adults how I’d eventually find my place in the world. I would “grow out” of whatever stage I was in.

But I didn’t so much as grow out of than grow into.

I learned to be likable.

I learned about hobbies other kids enjoyed, so I could do them too and make friends. I learned how to do my hair and forced myself to wear makeup so I could hang out with the popular girls. I learned that I could impress adults by “speaking so well” while also studying my peers so I could assimilate to them.

It was exhausting.

Is exhausting.

Yet Austin didn’t care about my rambling or that I didn’t have on a stitch of makeup. I wasn’t actively worried about molding myself into someone different, because I was only there for Noah. So Austin really got a true taste of me.

And he apparently didn’t have a problem with it. In fact, he seemed to want to hire me more because of it.

“He said he needs a personal assistant,” I tell my mother. “Said he would pay me two hundred and fifty dollars a day.”

Mom closes her eyes, muttering her version of a curse word, which is “Mary, Mother of God.” Then she slants her gaze to me. “That is a lot of money. I told you when the Lord closes a door, he opens a window.”

“Well, this house is more like a mansion, and the windows are probably really high for me to climb through.”

She smiles. “Then you’d better get yourself a good ladder.” She wiggles her finger in the air. “See? I put Mary in the window and look…”

I rub at my eyes. Mom’s always lighting candles and praying to saints, doing things like putting a statue in the window to bring good luck. But it kind of feels like it’s doing the opposite. Nothing in my life has ever gone right or been easy, and I don’t think praying will change that. I mean, look at my mother. She is a good person. She used to volunteer all the time, attended Mass every Sunday, never raised her voice or had a bad word to say about anything. She’s never even remarried because she is still so in love with the man who’s buried over in the Immaculate Heart cemetery.

But none of that saved her from a cancer that she never should have been diagnosed with in the first place. Never smoked a day in her life.

My father was on his way home early from work to pick me up from school because I was sick when he was hit by a car.

The first time I had sex, I got pregnant.

Whatever it was I did in a past life—stepping on cracks or crossing too many black cats—I’m not sure, but I’m certainly paying for it in this one.

Though, I suppose it’s about time something good has dropped into my life. “You really think I should do it? Take the job?”

“Why not? If he’s willing. You deserve it. You deserve something good to come your way. So does Noah.”

CHAPTER 5

AUSTIN

I lift my shoulder, wiping at the perspiration at my temple, then drag my forearm over my mouth and beard before readjusting my jersey and stance, settling into position. The tiny speaker attached to my cap crackles with a monotone, computerized voice. “Slider. High inside.”

A few years ago, this electronic communication system was widely adopted by the league, mostly doing away with physical hand signals, and I nod to accept the call. Wind up, pitch, and…

The umpire raises his right fist, shouting, “Out!”

I jog off to the bench to jeers from the home crowd. “You fucking suck, Ashwood!”

“Go back to Atlanta! We don’t want you here!”