From The Other Side

5. strike one

FIVE
strike one

Monday, February 22nd

Isaiah couldn't tell if August was teasing him or genuinely repulsed by the way he was practicing. He'd comment on everything, but when Isaiah looked over, he was either smiling or not even glancing his way.

It was when Isaiah didn't even try that hard that August praised him. "Nice swing," is what he'd stated. Isaiah was beyond confused. Was he doing this on purpose?

Isaiah sighed, relaxing his arms and pushing his bat into the fake grass. "I didn't even try that time," he muttered.

"Exactly," August commented, fingers curling around the holes in the fence. "Stop thinking so hard about it. What? Are you trying to impress me or something?"

I think so. "No."

August smirked, and Isaiah felt his heart squeeze. "If you say so," he replied. He pulled out his phone again and started typing, causing Isaiah to wonder who he was talking to. Or if he'd just stumbled across a funny tweet. Maybe he'd found a cute puppy on Instagram. Isaiah just wanted to know, but he didn't understand why. It wasn't any of his business, but he wanted it to be. I want to be his friend.

Isaiah cleared his throat and stepped out of the cages, dragging his bag behind him. "I think I'm done," he said, and faltered when he glanced over at August just in time to see him frown. He wanted an excuse to talk to him more, however, being around him made Isaiah feel weird. Like he was trying so hard to make August like him that he was becoming exhausted. Why did he care so much about his opinion? Was it seriously because he wanted to be friends with him?

"So soon?" August inquired, pushing off the fence and walking over. "It's barely been an hour."

Isaiah shrugged and didn't look August in the eye, because if he did, he knew he'd never want to leave. And that rubbed him the wrong way. "I'm off today. I don't like feeling off."

"And?" August pushed. "What, you gonna let a bad day stop you?"

Isaiah scowled, finally deciding to look at him. "What? No."

August stepped closer, and Isaiah instinctively took a step back. "You didn't seem off during practice," he pointed out. As if he knew something Isaiah didn't. Which he probably did. August seemed like he knew everything. And Isaiah didn't know if it was a good thing, or a bad thing.

"I'm tired," Isaiah defended. August raised an eyebrow, not convinced in the slightest.

"What do you want me to say?" Isaiah grumbled, kicking at the gravel with his cleats. The rough sound was like music to his ears. "That I'm distracted by you?"

August snorted. "That's the first thing that came to mind?"

"I am not distracted by you."

"Never said you were."

"But you think I am."

"Do I?" August questioned, tilting his head to the side with a teasing grin. His hair fell into his eyes, his green irises seeming brighter when faced with the sun. But the sun had no chance against August; his name suited him well. A summer boy.