Page 70 of The Way We Swing Back

I tried to play it cool, holding up the envelope. “Mail.”

His eyes dropped and landed on the university logo. Then he exploded, his voice cracking. “DUDE. EASTON. IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?”

I barely opened my mouth before he grabbed the collar of my shirt and hauled me inside as if I weighed nothing. My feet actually left the porch for a second.

“Kitchen. We need flat surfaces and bright lighting,” he announced, speed-walking like a grandma in the mall.

“Gavin, calm down—”

“I AM CALM,” he said, which was a lie so outrageous I didn’t bother with a response.

He let go of me only when we reached the counter. He bounced on the balls of his feet, all six-foot-something of him vibrating and ready to explode.

“Open it,” he urged, eyes huge. “You gotta open it. I can’t—dude, OPEN IT.”

My hands shook. Not because of the pressure—I was nearly positive I had gotten in; I’d talked to the coach last week—but because the envelope suddenly felt impossibly important.

I slid my finger under the flap. Paper tore, a small piece floating to the ground softly. I pulled out the letter. The first sentence hit with the force of a shove to the chest. “We are pleased to inform you…"

Gavin erupted. A full-on yell, a foot away from me. It was a noise that probably registered on the Richter scale. Before I could react, he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me off the ground like a sack of flour. “YOU’RE IN! YOU’RE IN! MY DUDE IS A COLLEGE-BOUND KING!” he yelled, spinning us in a sloppy half-circle.

“Put me down!” I gasped between laughs. “Gavin—I’m gonna barf—”

He set me down so fast I stumbled, then he immediately grabbed the acceptance letter as if it were his birthright. “Look at this fancy paper,” he said, rubbing his fingers over the crest. “It’s what adult documents look like. Like taxes. Or marriage licenses.”

I snorted. “Pretty sure this is none of those things.”

Gavin ignored me and read the letter aloud in a voice meant for stadiums, adding explosion sound effects after every sentence. When he reached the scholarship line, he threw both hands up like he’d witnessed a miracle.

Somewhere in the middle of his victory dance, I pulled out my phone.

My hands steadied the moment I typed:

Got into Central Missouri. Officially.

Then, after a second:

Still can’t believe it.

The reply came almost instantly.

EASTON!!!! LET’S GO!!! I’m so freaking proud of you. Seriously. Call me later.

I read Tanner’s message twice, maybe three times, before pocketing the phone.

Gavin didn’t notice. He was busy reenacting my supposed future as a Division II baseball legend.

But this was it. It may not have been the school I’d dreamed of attending, but it was the school I’d be going to—with the program I wanted. Regardless of how baseball ended... I’d have a future. And a good one.

That night, everyone else sat at the dinner table when Gavin and I came in. He tried—for maybe two seconds—to contain himself, but the moment we joined them, he began wiggling like a toddler with a secret.

I wanted to wait until we’d eaten, but I worried Gavin would combust if he had to hold it in any longer. I cleared my throat. “So... uh. I got mail.”

Three heads turned.

I placed the envelope on the table.

Mrs. Quinn’s breath caught for a half second before her body relaxed to normal. Zach’s face softened into a crooked half-smile, measured practice after receiving three separate acceptances of his own. Mr. Quinn’s chair squeaked as he sat up straighter.