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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Everything ached. My legs, especially. Rick groaned aloud beside me, his head being hidden in his hands, as he complained about every little drill that Coach Witherspoon had had us running. In this obnoxious summer heat. But me, I was too tired to even respond.
Coach watched silently, only shouting brand new drills every other seconds, after who'd finally finish the previous drills. I turned to Rick, face beat red as I licked at my dry bottom lip. "This is absolute torture—I can't believe we've been running drills for the last two hours."
Rick agreed, his blonde strands of hair falling into his eyes, as he answered, "I know, and just wait until Eli gets here—I know you remember just how much he hated us while we were freshman. But I swear to God, if that guy even looks at me the wrong way, this year. I'll kick his ass." Rick spat.
I wished I could agree. But I knew—if Elijah even looked at me at all, I'd probably kneel before him willingly. I never was strong, whenever it came to him even acknowledging my existence—even if it was him making a snarky remark my way.
"Why do you think he's even coming here at all? He goes to Michigan State, right? There's no way the guy would just leave right before his junior year started, right? I mean, is it even allowed? Did his parents allow it—"
"Gage!" Rick interrupted me, loudly, my cheeks reddening once I noticed just how curious I had publicly gotten. And just Rick saying my full name, had me coiling. "Would you stop worrying so much? I'm sure he had no idea that you had a thing for him. You guys only spoke once, okay? You're good."
Once tryouts are over, I try to go by Rick's advice, and forget about Elijah McCay, who I'd most-likely be seeing in under twenty-four hours. I shower in the boys locker room, Rick's already dressed figure blocking me from the rest of the team, him already knowing just how uncomfortable I felt undressing in front of others.
Well, other than him, considering—he was Alaric Kensington, and also, my very best friend.
We were the very last ones to leave, me making my way toward Coach Witherspoon just one more time. "Hey, Coach, I was wondering if we could talk for a moment?"
He dismissed one of my teammates, someone who I hadn't even bothered to try and recognized. "Of course, Gage. What's the matter?"
I scratch at my wrist, where my gold bracelet, that consists of letters forming my name, sits silently. "Well, I, uh—I was just going to ask if you'd heard any rumors about Elijah McCay being your Jr. Coach, and if they were by any chance—true."
Coach Witherspoon sighed, leaning back onto the brick wall that outlined our schools building, both arms coming to cross over his chest. "I knew people would find out sooner or later. And yes, they're true."
