Chapter 9
Brandon came back into my life senior year.
Not as a friend.
As an opponent.
His new school made the regional playoffs.
He was finally pitching.
He had gotten better.
A lot better.
When I saw his name on the roster, my stomach tightened.
Coach looked at me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
Before the game, Brandon walked toward me.
My teammates moved closer.
I lifted one hand.
“It’s fine.”
He stopped a few feet away.
He looked older.
Less smug.
More tired.
“I’m not here to start anything,” he said.
“What are you here for?”
He swallowed.
“To say I knew about the envelope.”
“I know.”
His face tightened.
“I told myself you deserved it because everyone liked you more.”
I said nothing.
He looked down.
“My dad made me think your win was my loss.”
That hit harder than I expected.
“Was it?”
“No.”
He met my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
I wanted to forgive him.
I also wanted to stay angry.
Both felt true.
“Thanks for saying it,” I said.
That was all I had.
The game was brutal.
Brandon pitched well.
I pitched better.
We won by one run.
After the final out, Brandon looked devastated.
I knew that feeling.
So I walked over.
“Good game.”
He stared at my hand.
Then shook it.
His grip trembled.
In the stands, Mom cried.
Coach pretended dust got in his eye.
Again.
That night, Brandon sent me one message.
You earned it.
I replied.
So did you.
May you like
It was not friendship.
But it was a door unlocked.
