The Quarterback's Girl

Chapter 20

I sit alone in the cafeteria like I have been of recent. It's actually kind of nice, other than the feeling of everyone assuming I have no friends - which I kind of don't right now - but it gives me time to think and process what's going on. A part of me is slightly sad that Owen hasn't text me back right away, maybe he isn't so desperate for female attention, maybe I'm not likable, maybe this is going to be harder than I thought it would be.

I take a bite of my apple, it's gone a little soft and has that odd slightly overripe apple consistency, just my luck. Poppy walks by and glances at me with a pitiful look on her face. I don't blame her, I pity myself too right now. Come on, stop wallowing, Kim. You're not dying you've just had a little spoof with your friends but you've got a plan to fix that, remember?

That's right, the plan. The ball isn't in Owen's court just yet, he might not have text me back so far, but that doesn't mean he won't and it certainly doesn't mean I'm not about to go out of my way to encourage him. Since I have all of this thinking time, I decide to start formulating phase two of win all my friends and brother back. Although I want to get the ball rolling with this plan of action I'll have to wait a day or two because I can't seem too eager. Owen may be a wannabe womanizer but he'll know something's up if I come storming in confessing my undying love. That example is a tad dramatic perhaps?

The rest of the day continues as normal. Well, the new definition of normal that I have come to know; I chat with people during classes, get on with my work, and mostly think about Owen. The more I daydream the more I imagine what it would be like to progress our false bond. Not that there really is one, yet.

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It's been a few days since Owen walked me home, and I've finalized my next step. I knock on Coach Jensen's office door. "Come in." Orders a commanding voice. "Dartmore's sister. What can I do for you?" His hand gestures towards the vacant chair on the other side of his desk and I sit.

"Kim." I inform of my name so he doesn't solely associate me as Jason's sibling. "I was wondering, so for my English class," I try to begin but I'm not exactly sure how I'm going about my request. I'm silent for a few seconds, Coach's eyebrows are raised, clearly he is questioning why I've come to the head of physical education for an inquiry regarding English class. "I'm writing a creative piece and I was wondering if I could get some inspiration from the baseball team?"

"Right..." Jensen still looks somewhat puzzled as the cogs turn in his head as to why this concerns him. He's one of those teachers where if something doesn't have to be his problem, it won't be his problem. Unless it involves sports, that is. He's immensely proud and competitive when it comes to the sports teams here at the school.

"Would it be alright for me to sit in on some practices?" I finally ask, getting to the point.

Coach Jensen's eyes widen then quickly narrow into what I think is a glare. "How am I supposed to know that you aren't some kind of spy from a rival school?" Did I forget to mention that he's also incredibly paranoid about other school's sports teams playing dirty in order to beat us? It's been known to happen in the past but not exactly via enrolling in the school and asking to sit in on a few practices.

"Nothing like that, sir." I think quick on my feet. "I was just hoping to shine some light on our star athletes and get some extra credit doing so." One of his eyebrows slowly creeps higher as he processes my words. "And, and my mom is a journalist for the town paper, if it's any good maybe I could submit it there?"

"Could attract college scouts, more funding." He mutters under his breath, a faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, you can sit in on some practices, whatever you write better be good, Dartmore." His muscular hand reaches across the desk and I shake it firmly.

"Thanks, Coach."

Bingo!

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Mondays and Thursdays, that's when the baseball team has practice. I already stalked Owen on Monday which means that today is round two. I walk past the locker rooms, they haven't even begun playing yet but already there's a faint waft of pubescent body odor as I pass the doorway. Gross. I walk out onto the field, no one is here just yet, they're all still changing. It's so surreal, I hadn't thought about it until now but standing from the pitching mound I feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so powerful. I move away before anyone comes out and asks me what on earth am I doing. I sit own on the bench for the players that are substitutes during a game. I wonder if this bench has a particular name. Just then I realize I really don't know much about baseball at all. On that thought I pull a notepad and pen from my bag and right on que a group of teenage boys emerge onto the field.

They start by running laps, as they reach the perimeter of the field where I am sat the begin looking at each other confused why I am there which is when Coach Jensen appears and explains to them that I'll be joining them for a little while, that I might help encourage college scouts and not to bother me. At least that's what I can make out from where I am sat.

Between various drills of pitching, catching and hitting Jensen will constantly make them run laps until they come back and do it better, which to me seems a little harsh. But none of the boys complain, they just get on with it. That's surprising since my vision of most teenage boys is that they hate having to put effort into just about anything. After each lap, Owen seems to usually the first to complete it, he seems to hit the ball the hardest, the farthest, to pitch so well that every batter is given a run for his money. I take a few notes every now and then about what I'm watching. I'm not sure how I'll be able to thread these comments together into a creative piece but jotting things down certainly won't make it any harder.

The entire practice my eye is drawn to Owen like a magnet. How am I just noticing his muscular physique? I guess it's overshadowed by his overconfidence and perverted pick up lines most of the time. Otherwise I could imagine him being quite the catch. The coach calls them in for a cool down before dismissing them. Owen drinks from his water bottle, takes off his shirt then pours some over his head and shakes his wet hair like a dog. I don't know why, but that was hot.