Gage Cilleti has just begun his junior year of high school, and is becoming more and more involved in his school's activities, considering he'd been playing baseball since he was just seven-years-old.
Elijah McCay has just dropped out of school, du...
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I quit. I'm a total and complete quitter.
Earlier this morning, I had woken up with an epiphany; I was done with baseball. I didn't come to this decision lightly. Not getting much sleep last night, I tossed and turned for hours before finally—I made the decision. And honestly, it was one I should've made months ago.
But with the year coming to an end, I guess I just thought that I could push through. I was very, very wrong.
Coach Witherspoon was disappointed to say the least—but he understood. After our long talk he admitted that he saw this coming. With me missing more and more practices and not really giving my all at our games, he knew that sooner or later my time as leader of the team was done.
And I've never seen anyone rejoice louder than when Austin Geller received news that he was taking over, and I would be stepping down. That little asshole always had it out for me.
But now, I was standing at my locker, watching as Rick hugged all of our friends and acquaintances goodbye. Most had brought him parting gifts as a goodbye, and other simply held him tight and set him off with parting words.
It was difficult to watch. Because I knew, I knew that soon that would be me, hugging my best friend goodbye. And I most likely wouldn't see him again for another year and a half, when both senior and junior year were over.
And that really sucked.
Rick finished off an embrace with Michelle Wheeler, who had always had a little bit of a crush on him. I watched as he gave her a suave kiss on the forehead, her cheeks flushing instantly. He leaned in, whispering a sweet nothing into her ear before she turned and walked away,
I raise an eyebrow as he walks over to my locker, and leans his head against it with a heavy sigh. He chuckles at my nonverbal question. "What was that?"
"Nothing much," he swings his backpack over his shoulder, "just letting know I'll keep in touch."
I nod, returning my gaze to the ground, a large lump being lodged into my throat. Rick sees this, an apologetic look taking over his already saddened features. "I'm sorry, G," he whispers lightly, blue eyes piercing with sadness. "I wish I didn't have to go."
"Don't be. This will be good for you and your family—"
Rick scoffs, us now making our way out of the schools crowded hallway and over to Rick's truck. "You keep saying that like it means something."
I pull open the passenger side door, sliding into the seat and buckling myself in. "It does. Maybe a fresh start is just what you and your dad need for things to go back to how they used to be."
