Full Count (The Catcher Series Book 1) (43 page)

             “Okay, so what
’
s the story?” I
press. It better be something good and not just “girl almost dies but makes an
incredible comeback.” Bite me. Do something awesome and focus on my pitching or,
even better, my pitching coach. I don
’
t want my injury to
define me.

           
Skyler looks mad I
’
m
even considering participating in this. I
’
m basically
being forced into it; I
’
m sure contracts have already been
signed if the crew is here.

             “The story focuses on your process on becoming such
an outstanding pitcher at such a young age. We all know the surface level of
your process,” McCallum tells us, giving an approving glance to Skyler. I want
him to be done. Stop talking. End it here. That
’
s a good
story. But I know the way his voice inflicts upward that a “but”
is
coming. It
’
s the same way I always know the doctors
give bad news last. “But ESPN wants more. They also want a little bit of how
you recovered from the accident to come back to the game.” Sorrow resonates on
his face, like he regrets signing the contracts before hearing everything that
ESPN wanted. This must
’
ve been an addition afterwards. If
he would
’
ve consulted me first, I would
’
ve
told him to be prepared.

             “She
’
s still recovering,” Skyler
blurts out in a grunt. He
’
s slouched in the chair with his
hand on his chin, very deep in thought contemplating a way out of this for me.
His hair sticks up above his forehead in a disheveled way, but I
’
m
totally digging the badass look he
’
s rocking.

             “I know,” McCallum agrees.

             “Then that
’
s bull shit,” Skyler
argues weakly.

             “What are you so worried about?” I wonder. Being on
ESPN is a dream come true for both of us, and he
’
s
obviously going to be a part of this feature story - he
’
s
my coach.

             “Them badgering you like Samantha does in therapy
except this will be on fucking ESPN,” he shares this thought process. Makes
sense I guess.

             “We
’
ll go through the interview
questions beforehand, and her and Allen have rights to some editing,”
McCallum interrupts.

             “Some editing,” Skyler groans, throwing his hand out
from underneath his face.

             “Yes. Enough to make the story how she wants it,” he
adds.

             “I want Sky to be a part of it,” I demand before
either of them can continue their argument. I feel like a little kid who can’t
get a word in between these guys.

             “Of course,” McCallum obliges. Then all of a sudden
his entire demeanor changes from openly with us to totally against us with one
movement of straightening his posture. “You guys can also explain how my pitching
coach is dating my best pitcher.”

            Skyler and I both deadpan. We saw this coming. Even
though we did our best to keep the flirting off the field, it didn
’
t always happen. Our chemistry is more obvious than the sun
blinding someone without sunglasses. I
’
ve been waiting for
McCallum to bust us all season.

             “Mac, I can explain-” Skyler tries, but McCallum
cuts him off.

             “Swanson, I asked you at the beginning of the year
if you were and you both said no.” He
’
s right. But things
changed. Sorry? We
’
re kids. Give us a break.

             “
And we weren
’
t…
at the time,” Skyler defends us.

             “I told you I couldn
’
t have a
coach dating a player. What? Did I put the idea in your heads?” he banters.

            To answer this, Skyler mimics McCallum
’
s
body language in sitting up straighter, trying to appear taller and more
superior. If I wasn
’
t his sunshine, I might be timid of
the thunderstorm he
’
s brewing. I just let him defend us
until we can see blue skies again. “No. We fucking grew up together and
everyone around us has been trying to keep us apart. We
’
ve
kept this a secret from everyone. If you knew, why didn
’
t
you just fucking fire me?” Skyler complains. I love how feisty he gets,
especially with my coach, and he isn
’
t afraid to just say
how he feels, no matter how many detentions he could get for throwing f-bombs.
Teachers gave up on him years ago when they realized detentions only make him
swear more.

             “Because you
’
re a great coach,
and I wasn
’
t sure if I was just reading the situation
wrong.” McCallum is a young guy, only eight years older than Skyler. He
’
s a baseball legend at Central, but Skyler and him talk like
they
’
ve been buddies for years.

             “
So I can
’
t
be her coach because I
’
m dating her?” Skyler deadpans
again. McCallum remains silent and shrugs, defeated. “But you don
’
t
even pay me. I
’
m a student, just like Buzz.”

             “I know,” he tells him.

             “Then there
’
s no
problem,
” Skyler decides. “Let
’
s do the fucking
story.”

            I exchange a look with Skyler that says
I don’
t really know what that was but ohhhhh-kay.

38 Skyler Swanson

Buzz and I are basically excused from classes today to appease
ESPN. I say basically because she still has to attend her algebra class and I
have to go to my calculus class. After school they are going to pull Cara,
Alex, and Tiffany for interviews as well because we justified how their
perspectives will add to the story. Benny and I have one of the melodramatic
interviews this afternoon that I
’
m dreading.

            The ESPN crew leads Buzz, McCallum, and me into the
gymnasium where they set up their cameras and lights while we were arguing in
McCallum
’
s office about doing the story. We really don
’
t have a fucking choice. Allen is waiting for us in the gym
also, with my dad by his side. They run an advertising production agency
together in downtown Chicago, so it doesn
’
t surprise me
that they
’
re trying to use the ESPN exposure for their
company. Nothing sleazy, just smart. 

             “Why didn
’
t you just fucking
tell us?” I quietly ask them both as Buzz stands next to me.

             “We didn
’
t want you to have to
keep this secret from her. We needed her to just play her game without thinking
about ESPN,” my dad reasons. Touché.

             “You know you can
’
t swear
during the interview, right?” Allen states firmly in his business suit. I feel
like I
’
m looking through a time warp of myself in thirty
years, which is weird because he isn
’
t even
my
dad; he
’
s just my future father-in-law and
Godfather.

             “This should be interesting,” Buzz snickers under
her breath. When she sees I heard her, she widens her eyes and giggles herself
away from us for a moment until Erin Andrews walks into the gym with makeup
artists giving her finishing touches.

             “Wow. Her and Tiffany could be sisters,” I mumble,
thinking aloud. I didn
’
t realize I fucking said it clearly
enough for anyone else to hear until I feel Allen
’
s glare
trying to kill me.

            Buzz slithers her way through the crew and back to my
side as we wait for our cue to join Erin. Her arm slings around my back in a
comforting manner but also a little possessive. I kind of fucking love it. It's
definitely new coming from Buzz.

            When we are finally called over, the makeup artists
start playing with Buzz
’
s long, wavy brown hair and bare
cheeks. I try to hold in my laughter as she literally puts her hands on them
trying to shoo them away. Eventually she takes it upon herself to stand on the
chair so she
’
s out of their reach completely.

             “This isn
’
t about how pretty I
am,” she complains, wiping her newly blushed cheeks with her hands.

             “Guys, she doesn
’
t want or need
it. Leave her alone,” I warn and they step back from her. When she believes
they won
’
t come back for a second round, she squats in the
chair and then flings her legs out from underneath her to sit down again. Even
with ESPN in her face she
’
s still crazy Buzz. I love her
even more for it.

            Soon the gym lights dim and the production lights
brighten creating the image that it
’
s just me, Buzz, and
Erin in the room, despite there being dozens of other crew members on our
perimeter.

            Buzz winces at the light before Erin can even
introduce herself to us, and she doesn
’
t come back from
bowing her head to get away from it. I jump out of my chair so I can squat
below her, seeing what she needs so I can convey it to the crew.

             “The lights. They
’
re too
bright,” she states. Bless this girl for expressing what bothers her without
whining.

             “Alright. I
’
ll see what they
can do. Just keep your eyes closed for now,” I suggest, giving her a kiss on
the top of her head. I walk over to Erin and the two crew members on either
side of her holding the lights and an overhead microphone and calmly inform
them, “She can
’
t do this with the lights like that. They
’
re too bright.”

            The guys exchange a weird look like
we
’
re taking orders from this adolescent now?
If they
want to do this feature story, they will. The executive in charge of doing this
whole story steps up into the light so I can see all of him in his fitted suit
and nerdy, yet probably latest trend, glasses. His hair is slicked back like
someone straight out of Grease. He almost looks like a younger version of Allen
when he was climbing his way up the corporate ladder.

             “The lighting gives us the shot we want. It blurs
the background and puts you guys in the light,” he explains as if I
’
m as big of a moron as his two crew members I tried giving
directions.

             “I
’
m sorry. Do that shot with
someone else. She can
’
t do it like this. The light is too
bright,” I enforce, turning my attention back on Buzz so he
’
ll
look at her curling into her knees with her eyes closed, avoiding the lights at
all costs. Allen nods approvingly at me in the background for not swearing… yet.
He goes to his daughter
’
s side while I continue bantering.

             “Can she at least try?” the producer presses like a
total fucking asshole. How can they come do a story on a girl with brain trauma
and not be accommodating?

            And then Buzz pukes in between her legs on the
basketball court, no holding back.

            Everyone steps back as I continue to argue with the
producer.

             “She did. You either want the story or you don
’
t. It
’
s not about the fucking shot; it
’
s about her. And she can
’
t do it like
this,” I threaten that we
’
ll walk away from all of this if
they won
’
t make the conditions better for her - because we
fucking will in a second. If her throwing up isn
’
t enough
proof to him and the crew, then Buzz and I are done
. I don’
t
care about some fucking ESPN feature. I mean, it
’
s cool,
and I
’
m proud of her, but I won
’
t
compromise her health for it.

             “Give us a minute,” he says.

            So I return to Buzz
’
s side and
whisper to her, “You okay, B?”

             “I
’
m just getting a headache
now,” she informs me, still shielding her eyes from the production lights. She
knows not to apologize for puking; it was completely out of her control. Some
of the crew members have began scrambling, probably looking for a school
janitor to clean up the mess.

            When I go into my backpack to fetch her a piece of
mint gum, my dad approaches me and says, “Skyler, you
’
re
not supposed to tell them what to do."

             “I
’
ll tell him what to fucking
do if what he
’
s doing is hurting her,”
I
argue, glaring at him.
“She just threw up, Dad.” I
’
m
always protective of Buzz, but this time is a special case. Not only is my
intention to protect her physically, but it
’
s also to
protect her emotions and her story. ESPN knew what they were getting into with
featuring Buzz; she has brain trauma, so they need to be considerate. “
Buzz,
” I acknowledge her. When she squints up at me and takes
the piece of gum, I suggest, “Let
’
s go outside for a
minute.”

             “I can
’
t see. Can I hop on your
back?” she asks me. Of course she fucking can. I bend down and let her jump on
me and pop her bottom up so she won
’
t slip as I walk.

            We aren
’
t outside for thirty
seconds before Erin Andrews trails us. It
’
s a slightly
overcast spring day, a perfect day for a game. The wind lightly blows out her long
blonde hair like she
’
s a supermodel on a runway, and for a
moment I
’
m lost in her until Buzz nudges me.
Oops.
Fuck
.

           
I grab Buzz
’
s
hand as Erin approaches us since I don
’
t care if she
fucking knows we
’
re together. I
’
m
sure it
’
s going to come out in the interviews anyways, but
for now no one else is around.

             “Would you prefer to do the interviews outside?” Erin
asks us. If we say yes, she can make it happen. She may be just the
interviewer, but she has tons of power with the ESPN crew.

             “Yes,” I answer at the exact same time that Buzz
says, “No.”

             “B, you can
’
t even see in
there. At least out here it
’
s natural light,” I try.

             “But they
’
ll have to move
everything,” she says, and I realize she
’
s just trying to
make everything easier for them.
Oh, fuck no.
They
’
re
exposing Buzz to the sports world, so she should be running the show, not the
other way around.

             “You threw up all over their equipment. They
’
re going to move everything anyways,” I tell her, knowing it
may sting. In the end it
’
s more convincing and gets her
what she really needs.

             “Ugh,” Buzz whines as her cheeks darken to a rose
color.

             “Miss Andrews-”
I begin.

             “It
’
s Erin,” she corrects me
with a down-to-earth smile.

             “Erin,” I respect her interruption. “Can we please
do the interviews outside? Maybe on the softball diamond?”

             “I
’
ll see what we can do,” she
promises.

            When Erin turns to go back inside, Buzz hits me on
the arm way harder than I ever expect from her. I feel bad that her scar is
scrunched together as a result of her glaring at me with her entire body. It
always makes her look madder than she actually is when that happens.

             “What the hell?” I back away from her, attempting to
keep some airiness in my voice to lighten the mood.

             “What the
fuck
was that?” she asks me, putting
emphasis on my favorite word. It isn
’
t out of anger, but
she certainly is expressing her sassiness. “I thought you didn
’
t
like blondes.”

            Buzz = not blonde. Therefore, “
I don’
t
like blondes.”
Skyler Swanson, be fucking careful what you say next.

             “I
love
you,”
I affirm.
“But
she
’
s on my list.”

             “
Your list? What list?
” she
snickers, and I realize my declaration fell on deaf ears. All she heard is that
I have a list.

             “My list of celebrities that if I
’
m
ever stuck in an elevator with I can…” I partially explain, but I know it
’
ll be better if I just shut the fuck up. The ditch I dug is
deep enough; I don
’
t need to get to the center of the
earth.

             “Guys have lists like that, too?” she gasps. She now
turns an even deeper shade of red from realizing she just outed that she has a
list of gorgeous, sweaty, muscular guys of the same nature. She could probably
be classified as a cleat chaser - a girl who likes baseball guys - so I’m sure
that’s how she made the majority of her list.

             “Yes, but you know I would be thinking of you the
whole time,” I tease, reaching to tickle her stomach and feel her squirm in my
arms. Before I have time to stop touching her, we have an audience of camera
crews, coaches, and dads pouring out from the gym. This is a little fucking
awkward. Oh well.

            Twenty minutes later everything is set up to conduct
the interviews on the softball diamond. To prevent another upchuck, Erin makes
sure Buzz is comfortable before running through a list of questions with us
prior to the cameras rolling. She is very professional about everything, so
together Buzz and I give the go-ahead to start filming.

            Partway through the interview, the questions become
more personal compared to the beginning ones that focus more on Buzz
’
s game, which would be fine if Buzz wasn't such a fucking goof
ball.

             “So, rumor has it that you two are dating?” Erin
chuckles, slightly more personal like we are becoming her friends.

             “Yes,” Buzz firmly answers. She
’
s
so damn happy and proud to finally say yes to someone asking us that. I get
caught up in her giddiness - not the two sets of fatherly eyes coming from
behind the crew. When I don
’
t say anything, she turns her
attention to me instead of Erin and the cameras. “What? Should I not have said
anything? McCallum knows, so I figured…”

             “It
’
s fine,
”
I assure her with a minuscule raise of my eyebrows.