27. Jordan

TWENTY-SEVEN

Something's goingon with Blaise, and it's killing me that I can't help. Or more to the point, it's killing me that he doesn't want me to help… and every time I try, it just makes him more distant.

I know what the problem is, of course. This setback in his plans has really hurt him, and now that we're getting toward the end of April and applications for the internship are about to close, he's feeling it twice as hard. Last week when we were hanging out with his friends, Calla asked me if I was going to stick around San Luco after regionals, and I (awkwardly) said that once my ball commitments were done, I'd be heading back to Georgia for the summer internship I have lined up. Blaise didn't say anything, but he was quiet for the rest of the night, and I don't blame him. He's worked his ass off and has to delay his goals, and yet here I am, with an internship I got partly due to nepotism and that Toby was fine with having me start late because of regionals.

So… yeah.

From my perspective, the worst part of all this is that I could make it go away for him. I know my dads would lend him the money. Or Uncle Luke would call around people he knows and see if anyone has a pool house he can stay in. Fuck, they've just moved back to LA—they'd probably let him stay in my room in their house (because of course they have a room for me. I'm their favorite kid when Mila's not around).

But he won't take help from me. The one time I got up the nerve to bring it up, he shut me down so fast, I barely got the words out. As far as he's concerned, borrowing my car is already too much, and that's the end of it. Cara messaged to tell me she liked him and that he'd said something about not wanting to take advantage, but that's ridiculous—how can he be taking advantage of me when it's not costing me anything? Plus, he's my boyfriend and I love him.

Which is why I dropped the subject. I don't want this to come between us any more than it already has.

"C'mon, Marks," Boyle says, slapping me on the shoulder. "Smile. No sad faces allowed after a game like that. Wanna listen while I call my mom and remind her of her promise?" He's grinning from ear to ear. He got that third home run today, and he's been crowing through four innings, Coach's victory pep talk, and showers. It would be annoying if he didn't earn it… and promise we could all come over to hang out at his place next year. He asked if I wanted to be his roommate, and I'm kind of thinking about it. I love the dorms, but spending so much time at Blaise's place this semester has shown me how nice it can be to have a bit more privacy… and a bathroom that's not being used by thirty other guys.

Part of me is hoping Blaise will ask me to move in with him. I'm sure Drey won't care—the five times we've met, we got along really well.

"I don't think your mom wants an audience to hear you gloat," I say, "but thanks for the offer."

"Why so glum, chum?" he asks, dropping onto the bench beside me. He's fully dressed in his suit, ready to go, whereas I'm still just in pants and socks. "You've got good looks, good grades, a boyfriend who tolerates you, my friendship, and we're going to regionals!" He shouts the last part, and everyone breaks out into hollers and cheers.

I can't help grinning the way I always do when I think of it. I picked Franklin for the academic program and the location—the fact that I'd been offered the chance to play D1 baseball here was just a bonus. The team hasn't been more than mediocre for a long time, and I didn't expect my college baseball career to include a trip to regionals.

But we did it.

"I'm fine," I assure Boyle. "Just… thinking about stuff that doesn't belong in your moment of victory. No more dorms for you, buddy."

He pumps both fists in the air. "No more dorms for me! Xera blew my phone up with about a million texts already. She's pissed she'll be graduating this year and can't take advantage of my new place."

"So am I," Polly says as he passes by to throw his towel in the hamper. "You couldn't have made this deal with your mom last year?"

"Dude, I don't think I could have hit three homers last year, and I don't like to lose," Boyle admits with surprising modesty. Then ruins it by adding, "We smart guys weigh the odds and strike when the time is right. You'll learn that one day."

Polly narrows his eyes. "Marks, do me a favor and?—"

"On it." I shove my sweaty jersey in Boyle's face. It's hot today, and I worked up a good stink.

He rips it away and is swearing vengeance when Coach's voice cuts through the room. "Polling! Marks! My office!"

I freeze, and the room hushes. Usually when Coach calls someone to his office after a game—especially at this point in the season—it's because a scout wants to talk to them. And there was a scout at today's game; I heard the others talking about it earlier. It's no surprise Polly got called… but me?

I've never spoken to a scout before. I never thought I'd need to… or want to. And the guys all know that my plans don't include the big leagues.

"Am I in trouble?" I ask stupidly, and then horror strikes. Maybe someone saw me and Blaise together and Coach wants to warn me. Maybe there's a journalist in his office, not a scout. He could have called Polly as well in his role as captain to support me… or something.

Coach gives me a withering look and leaves, which does not answer my question or make me feel better.

"Get dressed," Polly says. "C'mon, hurry up. I'll wait for you."

"No, I think he wants me for something else. You go on." There's a very faint tremor in my voice that I'm sure nobody notices.

Except Boyle leans his shoulder against mine and says, "I bet you're wrong. I bet there's a scout there waiting to talk to you. So get the fuck up and put on a shirt."

I'm not completely convinced, but even if it is bad news, I can't go out there half-dressed. Not unless I want to feature in headlines like "College Baseball Coach Murders Own Player" and "Queer Baseball Player Killed While Half Naked."

Taking three deep breaths like my uncle Derek taught me, I race to put on my shirt and jacket before nearly strangling myself with the tie. Boyle busts a gut laughing, but Polly shoves my hands out of the way and takes over. Then he pushes me toward the door.

"Good luck," Laringo calls after us, and I have no idea if he thinks it's a scout or my big bisexual outing.

By the time we get to Coach's office, my palms are sweating. I wipe them on my pants, and Polly pauses with his hand on the doorknob. "Bro, chill," he whispers. "It's fine." Then he opens the door and we go in.

The guy waiting for us is wearing slacks, a shirt, and tie, but no jacket, and he's got a warm smile on his face. That's a good sign, right?

"Polling, hey," he says, holding out his hand to shake. "Good to see you again. You're having a great season."

I relax. A scout. Not a journalist.

Fuck. A scout!

"Thanks," Polly says. "It feels great to have a team that's so in sync."

Aw, that's Polly. The perfect captain and team player.

As if hearing me, he half turns and says, "Marks, this is Don Kettering. He works for the White Sox."

It gets cold in Illinois.

That probably shouldn't be my first thought right now. I paste on a wobbly smile and shake his offered hand. "Nice to meet you." There, that sounded… sane.

God, why am I being like this? I don't even want to play pro.

Do I?

"Good to meet you too," he says warmly. "You've surprised us all this year, in the best way possible."

"Thanks. It's, uh, been a great season for us." I hold on to the smile and relax again when he turns back to Polly.

"You guys are looking hot going into regionals. How are you feeling?"

"Thrilled to be here and confident that we'll give it our best," he says with an assured air that makes me so jealous. I need to pull it together.

"And how are you feeling about joining our fine organization come July?" Kettering asks slyly, and Polly laughs.

"I do like Chicago."

"And you, Marks? Ever been to Chi-town?"

"Uh, no. Winters there are a little on the cold side for me." Yes, I just said that. "But I have a friend who lives there and loves it," I add hastily.

His smile widens. "That's right, you're a Georgia boy."

"Actually, Cali first, then southern Georgia. So, you know…" I shrug. "Sun."

"Well, baseball's a summer sport, which leaves those nasty winters free for tropical vacations… paid for by a generous signing bonus, maybe."

Oh my god, he's serious. He's a scout, talking to me. About playing for the White Sox.

"I gotta be honest," I say, "playing for the majors wasn't in my plans. Not that I'm not flattered. A lot. A whole lot, actually."

He cocks his head. "How do you feel about changing those plans? Because in my job, we talk to our colleagues, and I can tell you that if you keep playing like this, next season I won't be the only one asking for a meeting."

Next year. When I'm a junior. I'll be eligible for the draft next year.

"I'd want to do like Polly and wait till I'm a senior." The words leave my mouth without any thought whatsoever.

Kettering nods. "A long-term thinker, huh? And I bet you want the extra time to get more interest too."

That hadn't occurred to me. Is that how it works? Why have I not paid attention to this shit?

Why am I even participating in this conversation?

"Long-term plan," I echo weakly.

"Well, no need to make any decisions yet. Keep on like you're doing, think over your plans, and keep in mind that I've got my eye on you. Maybe you should pay a visit to your friend in Chicago, see how you like it."

"I've got a boyfriend," I blurt, then instantly wish I hadn't. Heat rages in my face, but it's too late now. "That's not public. Uh. The team knows, but…" I don't know how to finish that sentence.

There's low-level surprise on Kettering's face, but no judgment. "We're an inclusive organization, which you probably know from the media. Your boyfriend would be welcome at Guaranteed Rate Field too." He almost manages to hide his wince, but I'm not sure if it's the mention of my boyfriend or the name of the stadium that causes it.

I nod a couple of times. "Cool. Well. Like I said… life plan. But it was really great to meet you, and I'll… I'll think about what you've said."

He and Polly talk a little more, mostly confirming that the team is strongly interested in him for the draft, and then Kettering shakes both our hands again and leaves.

"Dude." Polly punches my shoulder. "What the fuck? I thought you and Blaise were keeping things quiet."

"I don't know why I said half the things I just said," I confess.

"You did seem a little spacey. But hey… how cool would it be if we both ended up on the same team?"

The grin overtakes my face, because yeah, that would be cool.

But then it flees. How do I tell my boyfriend whose career plans have been put on hold that mine are looking up?

And, more importantly… am I seriously thinking about this?