Page 49 of The Way We Swing Back

“Gavin apparently has tutoring,” Zach said. “And we’re lifting after.”

Mrs. Quinn frowned. “Tutoring? School doesn’t start for a week.”

“Trying to get ahead of things. Can’t be missing games again this year,” Gavin said as he shoveled a pancake into his mouth.

Good. About time he realized we needed him.

“Still stuck with Maissie?” Zach asked.

“She’s not bad,” Gavin said quickly.

Zach laughed. “She’s terrifying.”

“She’s helping,” Gavin said, his face going pink, likely sick of getting crap for needing a tutor. “Actually helping. She’s nice.”

Mrs. Quinn’s head whipped at that. “You think your tutor is nice?”

“She’s bossy in a smart way,” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, I’ll be in better shape this year than I was last year.”

“Bold to assume now,” Zach muttered.

I stood by the counter, stacking plates and rinsing them. The rhythm helped. But the longer I stood there, the more the knot tightened in my chest.

Everything was the same—the pancakes, the cluttered counter, Gavin talking like he hadn’t only been awake for five minutes. But I wasn’t the same. And I didn’t know yet if the house wanted the new version of me—the one who’d finally agreed he needed help.

“Are you okay over there?” Mrs. Quinn asked softly.

I glanced up. She wasn’t pressing. “Yeah,” I said. “Just... grateful.”

She nodded. “We’re glad you’re here, Easton. You’re not a visitor anymore. So, stop waiting for us to send you away.”

The words echoed as I dried my hands and turned back toward the boys. Gavin had syrup dripping off the side of his mouth. Zach mock-yelled at something dumb Gavin had said. They looked as if they’d been doing this forever.

Maybe I could do this. Maybe if I did enough—cooked enough, cleaned enough, stayed out of the way enough.

“I’m going to the shed after this,” I said. “Might work on the cage. I noticed the netting’s sagging.”

“You don’t have to—” Mrs. Quinn started.

“I want to,” I interrupted.

She watched me for a beat longer then smiled. “Thank you.”

Gavin looked up. “You staying for lunch?”

“I live here now,” I said, surprised at how strange that still felt coming out of my mouth.

“Cool,” he said, going back to his pancakes.

I sipped my orange juice and looked around the kitchen. Same windows. Same stove. Same pancake spatula from months ago.

The Quinns had already decided I belonged here. I was the only one who hadn’t.

Chapter 22

The dreaded first day of school finally hit; I had on a new polo (thanks, Mrs. Quinn) and a pair of old khakis that were starting to creep up my ankles. I walked into my third class of the day, AP Stats, expecting to know nobody.

Stats was the only AP class I could handle. I didn’t consider myself as smart as the students who had schedules filled with AP Lit and AP Bio classes, but numbers made sense to me. Maybe all those years of calculating my batting average after every at-bat had prepped me more than I’d realized.