Chapter Two:Game On
1629 Words
“I think you might be exactly the right one.”
Toby Hayes said it like he had just delivered the most charming line in history.
I stared at him.
Maya looked between us with the expression of someone who had just been handed front-row tickets to a show.
I folded my arms.
“For what?”
His grin widened.
“A challenge.”
“Congratulations.”
“For?”
“Finding someone who doesn't care about your little campus celebrity act.”
One of his teammates made a sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh.
Toby glanced over his shoulder at him.
“Give us a minute.”
The guy immediately walked away, dragging the others with him.
Maya leaned toward me.
“I'll... go get food.”
I looked at her.
“You're leaving me?”
She smiled apologetically.
“I'm hungry.”
“Maya.”
“Good luck.”
And she disappeared into the student center.
Traitor.
Toby stepped closer.
I took one step back.
He noticed.
His eyebrows lifted.
“Relax. I don't bite.”
“I wasn't worried about that.”
“Sure.”
“What do you want?”
He shrugged.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you standing here?”
“Because you're interesting.”
I laughed once.
It wasn't a happy laugh.
“I'm interesting because you drove through a puddle and ruined my clothes?”
“That definitely helped.”
“You're unbelievable.”
“I've been told.”
“I'm sure.”
He leaned against the wall beside us.
“So, Zikora Hayes.”
I stiffened.
“How do you know my name?”
He pointed toward my backpack.
I looked down.
My name was written neatly on the little identification tag attached to it.
“Oh.”
“Not exactly detective work.”
I adjusted the strap.
“You should try being less annoying.”
“You should try smiling more.”
“I smile.”
“Not around me.”
“That's because you're annoying.”
He laughed.
Again.
Why did he keep doing that?
I was beginning to suspect he enjoyed irritating me.
Actually, I knew he did.
“You're always this serious?” he asked.
“Usually.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“Being around you is exhausting.”
He placed a hand over his chest.
“Ouch.”
“Good.”
He smiled.
Then his expression changed slightly.
“So, what are you studying?”
“Linguistics and Communication Studies.”
“That's interesting.”
“You don't sound convinced.”
“I am.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you don't seem like someone who studies language.”
I frowned.
“What exactly does someone who studies language look like?”
He shrugged.
“Less angry.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You're impossible.”
“And yet you're still talking to me.”
“I should go.”
I turned.
“Wait.”
I stopped.
“What?”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small packet of tissues.
“For your shirt.”
I stared at it.
Then at him.
“You had tissues this whole time?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn't give them to me earlier?”
“You didn't ask.”
“You watched me walk across campus covered in muddy water.”
He smiled.
“I was trying to decide if you were going to survive.”
I snatched the tissues from his hand.
“You're the worst.”
“Probably.”
I walked away before I could say anything else.
But I couldn't stop the tiny smile that threatened to appear.
I immediately forced it away.
No.
Absolutely not.
---
The rest of the week passed without another Toby incident.
Mostly.
I saw him everywhere.
At the cafeteria.
Outside the library.
On the baseball field.
Near the student center.
It was beginning to feel like Westbrook University had only admitted two students.
Me and Toby Hayes.
And apparently, the universe had decided we needed to annoy each other for the foreseeable future.
By Friday afternoon, I was sitting on the grass outside the library with my laptop open when someone dropped a baseball directly onto my notebook.
I stared at it.
Then slowly looked up.
Toby stood several feet away.
“Sorry.”
I picked up the baseball.
“You're lying.”
He smiled.
“Maybe.”
I held the ball out.
“Take it.”
He walked over and reached for it.
I pulled it away.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Problem?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“You.”
He laughed.
“That's becoming your favorite answer.”
“Because it's accurate.”
He reached for the ball again.
I moved it behind my back.
His eyebrows rose.
“Seriously?”
“Say please.”
He stared at me.
“You want me to say please?”
“Yes.”
“Please.”
I blinked.
That had been surprisingly easy.
I handed him the ball.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
He turned to leave.
Then stopped.
“By the way...”
“What?”
“There's a baseball game tonight.”
I waited.
“And?”
“You should come.”
I laughed.
“Why?”
“Because I'm playing.”
“That's not a reason.”
“It is if you want to see me win.”
I shook my head.
“You're very confident.”
“I'm good.”
“That's debatable.”
He looked offended.
“You've never seen me play.”
“I've seen enough.”
“From where?”
“Everywhere.”
He smiled.
“So you've been watching me.”
“No.”
“You just said you've seen me everywhere.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
He stepped closer.
“Come to the game.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I have better things to do.”
“Like what?”
“Studying.”
“On a Friday night?”
“Yes.”
“You're boring.”
“And you're distracting.”
He paused.
For the first time since I'd met him, he didn't have an immediate response.
His eyes stayed on mine.
Something about the moment changed.
It was brief.
Barely a second.
But I noticed it.
Then he smiled again.
“See you tonight, Zikora.”
“I said I'm not coming.”
He started walking backward.
“I'll save you a seat.”
“I don't need one.”
“Too late.”
He turned and walked away.
I stared after him.
Then looked down at my laptop.
I should have been studying.
Instead, I found myself wondering what number he wore.
I frowned.
Why did I care?
I didn't.
Obviously.
---
At 7:42 p.m., I was standing outside the baseball stadium.
I hated myself.
Maya had practically dragged me there.
“You said you weren't coming,” she reminded me.
“I changed my mind.”
“Because of Toby?”
“No.”
She gave me a look.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was thinking it.”
“Same thing.”
We entered the stadium.
The place was packed.
Students filled the stands, waving university flags and cheering as the players warmed up.
Then I saw him.
Toby was standing near the dugout.
His uniform was different from the casual clothes I'd seen him wearing all week.
He looked focused.
Serious.
Nothing like the irritating guy who had spent the last few days trying to get under my skin.
He caught a ball and threw it effortlessly to another player.
The crowd cheered.
Maya nudged me.
“You're staring.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
I looked away.
“I'm watching the game.”
“The game hasn't started.”
“Exactly.”
She laughed.
Before I could respond, Toby looked toward the stands.
His eyes scanned the crowd.
Then stopped.
On me.
His expression changed.
That familiar grin slowly appeared.
He lifted two fingers in a small salute.
I rolled my eyes.
But I couldn't stop myself from smiling.
Just a little.
The game started.
And Toby was good.
Annoyingly good.
He moved across the field with confidence, calling plays and encouraging his teammates.
Every time he stepped up to bat, the crowd erupted.
I found myself cheering once.
Then immediately looked around to make sure nobody had noticed.
Maya was staring at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop looking at me.”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
She smiled.
“You like him.”
I nearly choked.
“I do not.”
“You're smiling.”
“I smile.”
“Not around him.”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
Because she had a point.
The game continued.
Westbrook was winning.
And Toby was having the time of his life.
Until the final inning.
The score was tied.
The crowd was on its feet.
Toby stepped up to the plate.
The stadium became almost completely silent.
The pitcher threw.
Toby swung.
The ball flew.
Everyone screamed.
He had hit a home run.
His teammates rushed toward him as he crossed the field.
The crowd went wild.
And before I could stop myself, I stood up and cheered.
Toby looked toward the stands.
Straight at me.
His smile was huge.
He pointed at me.
Then mouthed three words.
Told you so.
I laughed.
And that was the moment I realized something terrible.
Toby Hayes wasn't just annoying.
He was becoming difficult to ignore.
And somehow, I had a feeling he knew it.
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