Her face reddens and I smile. Damn, I really HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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enjoy being me. I give her credit—Gwen

quickly rejoins the game. “Look, I’m trying to be helpful. Rumor at school says Ryan is only with you over a dare. Ryan and his friends take dares very seriously and he’d string you along in order to win. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good guy, but he’s a guy, you know? I would hate to see you take a fall once the dare’s complete.”

My entire body tenses. It’s the truth. He did ask me out on a dare, but I’m not a dare

anymore. I’m not. “Wow, Gwen. Thanks for

your concern. Is this where you ask me to braid your hair and then we’ll giggle about getting to first base with a boy?”

Gwen twines her golden hair around a

finger. I should bring her over to Scott as Exhibit B for why I hate blondes. “I’m trying to be your friend, Beth.”

“If you wanted to be my friend, you

wouldn’t have tried to slip your tongue in Ryan’s mouth last Tuesday when you cornered him after baseball practice.”

Blood drains from her face and I darkly

chuckle to rub in her embarrassment. She

didn’t think he would tell me. “Do I sound like HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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a dare now?”

“Why haven’t you dropped out of the

homecoming court yet? They’re going to take yearbook pictures next week, so this would be the time to leave.”

“I’m not dropping out.” I’ll be leaving soon, but I won’t drop out. Ryan wowed me and I lost the dare. I have ten days to keep my word to him.

Gwen eyes me coolly. “I thought you didn’t want the nomination.”

I shrug. “I changed my mind.”

“You’re not going to win,” she says. “Some people don’t like you.”

My spine straightens. “Do I look like I give a fuck what people think of me?”

“You should,” she says. “Because Ryan

does. If you cared for him, you’d walk away.”

Gwen doesn’t wait for me to reply. She

tosses that sickening yellow hair over her shoulder and struts away like she’s queen.

Unwanted demons race into my mind, taunting me with her words. I’m only a dare. Ryan

doesn’t love me. I’m no good for him.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe she’s wrong.

None of it matters. I’m here for ten days and HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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even if that wasn’t the case, I have a bottle of rain to prove her wrong.

HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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Ryan

CHRIS AND I BYPASS a woman with three

screaming children and an old guy guarding the shopping carts. It’s Tuesday evening and at Chris’s insistence, I drove the two of us into Louisville so we could shop at the Super Wal-Mart.

“Do you want to tell me why we’re here?” I ask. We have a Wal-Mart near the freeway

back in Groveton, but it’s a much smaller version and thirty years older.

“We know the people who work at our Wal-

Mart. More importantly, our parents know the people who work there.” Chris swings to the right, away from the food section and toward the pharmacy.

“So?”

“You want to keep Beth a secret from your parents, right?”

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I cringe when he says it that way, but in the end, it’s the truth. I want Beth to be my girl in every aspect of my life, but I need to pick my battles. I’m going to nail the writing competition, make the decision regarding

going pro or going to college, then own up to keeping Beth. “What does that have to do with Wal-Mart?”

Chris cuts into an aisle and waves his hand at the merchandise in front of him. “This.”

Condoms. Everywhere. I scratch the back of my neck and try to think of anything to say, but there isn’t a statement that could make this moment less uncomfortable.

“You need condoms,” says Chris.

Chris and I engulf the entire cramped aisle in front of the pharmacy. The middle-aged woman with the three kids eyes us as she walks past. “I’m taking it slow with Beth.”

“Slow wasn’t the position I caught the two of you in yesterday. I’m happy you’re happy, but none of us are going to be happy if little Ryans and Beths pop out of that girl.”

Point taken. Sex may not be in the plan, but it’s best to be prepared. “What do you use?”

He shrugs. “The normal shit. Are you going HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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to do it? The writing competition?”

“Yeah.” The normal shit. That narrows it

down. I survey the assortment before me.

Colored, ribbed, lubricated, and because this experience isn’t God-awful enough—they have sizes.

“We need you against Eastwick,” Chris says flatly. “We’re a game behind Northside so we need two wins in order to move into first place.

If we don’t win against Eastwick on Saturday, then it doesn’t matter if we win or lose against Northside on Monday.”

“I can’t play fully for both games anyhow.

There’s a state law about how many innings I can pitch, remember?” How the hell am I

supposed to know what size I am? I don’t go around staring at guys’ dicks. I don’t think I’m small and I sure as hell wouldn’t buy small even if I was. A guy has to have some pride.

“But you could guarantee us the win on

Saturday against Eastwick, then play the later innings against Northside. You’ve dug us out of a hole before in later innings and if we get low on Monday, you could dig us out. Get the glow-in-the-dark ones. I bet Beth’s into freaky shit.”

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My stomach clenches. “Beth is not into

freaky shit.”

“I saw her tattoo. She’s a freaky shit kind of girl. Look, I get that you don’t want to back out of a competition, even if it is writing, but I’m not going to lie. You’re scaring the team.

You’re the leader, dawg, and what does it say when our leader walks from a game? The guys are starting to question if you’re losing your edge.”

I zero in on Chris. “What does that mean?”

Chris meets my glare and I discover he’s one of the “guys.” “I’ve never seen you walk from a dare in my life and you walked from the one with Beth. You just gave up.”

“I didn’t give up. I fell for her.”

“Exactly. You could have bagged the dare by bringing her to the next party, but you threw down the white flag the moment you hooked up with her. She’s got her hooks in you and I want to make sure she’s worth it.”

Not liking the tone or turn of this

conversation, I fold my arms over my chest.

“What are you trying to say?”

Chris’s muscles ripple as he inches near me.

“You’ve changed since she’s come to Groveton HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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and I’m not sure I like it. It was us and baseball—what you used to care about. Then she comes around and it’s me, you, Beth,

writing, and sometimes baseball. You never once talked about going to college and now you want to walk from the pros. Who the hell are you?”

Who the hell am I? Who the hell is the guy in front of me? I step within swinging distance and, for the first time in my life, I’m willing to hit my best friend. “I’m the same damn guy who’s led this team year after year and I’m the same damn guy who encouraged you to date

our best friend. I can’t help it you never looked close enough to see I could be more than a man with a ball and a bat.”

We stare at each other. Unblinking.

Unmoving. Until Chris flexes his fingers and gestures to a box of studded condoms. “That’s some freaky shit too.”

I pull on the bill of my hat. What the hell?

Part of me wants to punch him. Part of me wants to ask what just happened between us. I go the easy route and let Chris off the hook.

“Show me what you get.”

What if she is into freaky shit? What if she HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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wants ribbed? When do you need

lubricated? I don’t even want to think about the kind that says they’ll make her tingle.

“Does she have a latex allergy? That could suck if she does. I’ve heard stories of girls puffing up like blowfish and having to be rushed to the emergency room.”