Unworthy Of Love (BXB)

24. The Game

Despite my resolve to concentrate only on the game, the moment I enter the field, I find myself scanning the crowd filling the bleachers. That's when Catherine usually jumps up and waves at me—one of our little traditions, equally reassuring and embarrassing. Today, she's not here, but Raven is—at least, he's supposed to be.

I finally spot the familiar black hoodie and a mop of long black hair in the left corner of the top row, away from the other spectators. I can't see his face from so far away, but I guess he's noticed me, since he raises a hand and waves. I can see no pom poms, thank God. I look away and proceed to my place, trying to empty my head of all thoughts unrelated to the game, to allow my instincts to kick in.

Once we start, I don't check the bleachers anymore, ignoring the crowd, their noise fading into background. It does linger at the back of my mind, though, the knowledge that he's there and watching. It pushes me harder to do well, and well I do, even hitting one particularly tricky slider, causing the crowd to erupt in cheers. I want to look at him then, but I'm too busy running as fast as I can. In fact, even when I'm safe on the base, I still don't look, not wanting him to notice that I care about him being here.

It's the game that's important now, and nothing else, and it's not hard to let myself be immersed in it, to get lost in the spectacular feeling of doing something that I really like—and when we finally win, it's exhilarating but not in the least surprising.

It's only when we're leaving the field that I allow myself a glance at the bleachers. Some of the spectators are already gone, others are trickling out. Raven's still there, on his feet now. He's not alone, though. He's standing face to face with some blond guy who, despite the distance, looks familiar to me.

He looks very much like Alvin.

My feet carry me to the edge of the field, even though all my guys are heading in the opposite direction, towards the locker room.

It seems Raven and Alvin are talking peacefully, but they stand a bit too close to each other, a distance between two people who are about to kiss or fight rather than chat. Given the history of these two, it's clear which one is about to happen.

Once I reach the barrier in front of the stairs, all I can see is the crowd making their way down. I catch a few complimentary remarks and let a couple of girls take a selfie with me and smile at their jokes about how much this picture will cost when I'm big and famous. A guy who I think is a father of someone from my class asks if I intend to go pro or go to college, and it takes me another minute to shake him off by shrugging, smiling and giving vague answers.

All the while, I keep scanning the people behind his back, searching for the familiar face. By the time he leaves me alone, the last spectators have cleared out, and I can see Raven go down the stairs, alone.

"Hey!" He raises his fist in a victorious gesture. "You guys won, as far as I could tell?"

"Where's Alvin?" I say. "I saw you two talking."

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and stops to the other side of the barrier.

"Alvin?" he says, somewhat distractedly, as if he's been thinking about something else. "He left."

"Did he bother you again?"

He frowns. "Bother? No, we're cool. He's actually apologized for his prior behavior. He's pretty friendly now."

"I see," I say, although I'm not quite satisfied with his answer. I would rather prefer for the two of them to not talk instead of developing a friendship. Neither Alvin nor his gang strike me as particularly suitable people for Raven to hang out with. I should perhaps discuss it with him, but now is not the time nor the place.

"So," I say, "how did you like your first baseball game?"

"It was fine." He shrugs. "A bit of a mess. When you hit that first ball, people barely reacted, and when you hit the second one, everybody went wild. I guess I'm missing something here."

"It was a slider," I say, smiling against my will. "I'll explain to you later."

"All right." Surprising me, he reaches out and brushes his knuckles against my cheek. "I was proud of you. You played well. Even I could tell."

"Uhm...thanks." I shrug away from his touch, my heart skipping a beat. "I... I'll go change."

He puts his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and smiles at me, rocking on his heels. As per my request, he has refrained from putting too much makeup today, save for some barely noticeable eyeliner. As usual, it makes him look younger, and prettier, if the term could even be applied to a boy.

"I'll wait for you by the car," he says, and adds flirtatiously, "You're taking me home tonight, lucky guy. Your place or mine?"

"We live in the same house, you idiot," I mutter, and turn away to hide my smile.

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