Chapter Thirty-Three

Dylan

“Do you think that sounded enough like what my mom would say?” Dylan asked Tristan, showing him the messages to Lucy about the auction.

“It sounds like what your grandma would say, dude.” Tristan pointed at the sign in table. “Here comes co-conspirator number two.”

Otis bounded over to them with long strides. “They saved the farm! So Lucy’s going to give them money to pay some fee and to buy misters to keep the chickens cool so the hens won’t get sick in the heat. Serena’s favorite chicken, Sprinkles, died because she was too hot, and that made both her and Lucy really sad, so Lucy said she wanted to make sure it—”

“Whew,” Tristan said, cutting Otis off. “You didn’t even draw breath for all of that.”

Otis rolled his eyes. “Anyway, everything is going good, so come to the shop, okay? Oh, and my mom knows, so she’ll keep Lucy from leaving.”

Her mom knows? Jesus. “Uh, thanks for that. I think.”

Otis frowned. “Was our plan a secret, too? Oh, man.”

“It’s okay. Really.” Dylan made a shooing motion. “Go get warmed up. We want to beat Coach Tristan’s team, right?”

“Right!” Otis dashed off and Dylan let out a long breath.

Tristan gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll work.”

“This isn’t a shirtless homerun derby,” Dylan muttered. “What if she’s mad I tricked her?”

“You didn’t trick her. You’re just getting your foot back in the door,” Tristan said. “Now quit moping and get ready to coach your team.”

Dylan nodded and went to the home dugout. He and Nate Rodriquez had done a coin toss against Tristan and Jeremy Ledecky for home-field advantage at the end of camp yesterday. Blue team had won, so they had the home dugout. Dylan took his place in Coach’s usual spot. Coach was umpiring today, calling balls and strikes. The assistant coaches were umpiring the other three positions. It was kind of funny to see them out there with chest guards and black hats on.

The boys were noisy as they trooped inside, looking at him expectantly. Nate shrugged and said, “You’re the coach. Give them a game day speech.”

“Uh…you guys have come a long way the last few weeks,” Dylan said, the back of his neck growing hot. “I’ve seen a lot of personal growth. Now let’s go out there and see what we can do as a team.”

The boys stared at him, then Otis shouted, “Yay, blue team!”

All the boys shouted it in return, and Nate snorted. “Is it sad that a nine-year-old can give a better amp-up speech than you can?”

“Shut up, Rodriquez.” Although Dylan couldn’t help laughing. He felt lighter today, after working out his plan to see Lucy, even if he was nervous about it. His talk with his parents last night about going to college had gone pretty well, too, and he was less upset about the idea with each passing day. Better to get encouraging news that wasn’t exactly what you wanted, than news that you’d never get there.

The game started. Otis looked really good. He had his stance down, and his “game face” expression was so serious, Dylan nudged Nate. “Do I look like that when I pitch?”

“Man, I’m gonna take a picture next time. You’re ten times worse. Other teams call you the Iceman. You know that?”

Yeah, he knew. And he’d probably stay that intense, but only on the field. He had some real living to do outside of baseball. Dylan stood and signaled to Otis to throw a changeup. They’d been working on these, and the kid had really improved.

Otis nodded, solemn, wound up, and threw a neat and tidy three-finger changeup, which was the beginner version of the pitch. The batter swung early—textbook—and struck out. Dylan gave Otis a thumbs-up.

In the end, blue team won. Otis struck out two of the three batters he faced before they let another pitcher have a turn. After they took a few pictures, Otis hung back. “I’ll see you later, right?”

“Right. And Otis? I’ve enjoyed having you at camp.”

The kid beamed. “Thanks.” Then he was gone, and Dylan was left to set his plans in motion.

“Hey, good luck today,” Tristan said when he came in to pick up his gear from the locker room. “And if all else fails, you could serenade her or something.”

“If I ever sing to a girl, I’ll be charged with war crimes.” Dylan shoved his glove into his duffel. “No, I’ll stick to being pathetic.”

“You’re anything but pathetic. She’ll either say yes or she won’t. You’re going places no matter what.”

Dylan nodded to Tristan, glad their friendship had survived the Alyssa affair. He didn’t know what he’d do without his best friend. Probably be pathetic.

Dylan ran home to take a quick shower and change clothes. His mother took one look at the boat shoes, plaid shorts, and aqua polo and choked on her salad. “Where on earth are you going, the yacht club?”

“Mom, you know we don’t have a yacht club around here.”

“Of course not, Chip,” she said in a mock-snobby voice. “Tally ho.”

Dylan threw up his hands. “I’m trying to impress a girl. Okay?”

Mom glanced him over again. “In that case, good showing. I can’t believe you didn’t try to give away that polo after grandma gave it to you last year.”

Dylan scuffed a foot along the floor. “Me, neither. But this girl…she likes bright and shiny things. My closet is pretty boring, so this was the best I could do.”

“Well, go see her, then.” Mom smiled. “And if it works out, I’d like to meet her.”

He nodded and went out to his car. Otis had texted that Lucy was hard at work in the back of the shop and to come in the front. Mom will let you in.

This was becoming a circus. He put his car in gear. If it didn’t work out, he was going to slink out of that shop and hide in his mom’s broom closet until graduation.

No, he wasn’t going to think like that. He knew how to be determined and how to work for what he wanted. What he wanted was Lucy.

And he was going to fight to get her back.