Page 178 of Hiding in the Outfield

I shake out my hair, droplets spraying everywhere. My body twitches as the ice-cold liquid streams down my skin. I try to glare through my grin at Schultz and Sanchez, who are holding the orange cooler over their heads like a trophy. I don’t even care that it’s fifty degrees, and I just took a Gatorade bath. Nothing can stifle the euphoria that’s bursting from me like radioactive waves.

The blond woman next to me laughs and steps up to me now that the coast is clear. She points her microphone toward me. Confetti covers us both, now sticking to my wet clothing.

But then La Cruz comes tearing my way and full-on koala tackles me. I nearly lose my feet but stumble around and manage to stay standing. La Cruz fist-pumps the air and lets out a battle cry. I can’t stop grinning. I can’t stop laughing. I can’t believe this right now.

“We fucking did it!” he roars.

“BDE!”

“BDE! BDE! BDE!”

The low rumbling chant breaks out, players, coaches, reporters, family members all joining in where we’re celebrating on the field. And then it’s like surround sound, the ground vibrating with each letter. The fans join in, louder. Louder.

The reporter next to me—Meredith—laughs, her smile matching mine, huge, bright, and all teeth. This is a dream come true for Berkeley. A new team. First playoff appearance. And we take it home.

At home.

“BDE. BDE. BDE.”

Another confetti cannon goes off.

“So, Olander, walk me through that at bat. It was a two-pitch at bat. Did something just click? It was like you knew you were going to take the pitch out of the ballpark.”

I glance around, at my teammates jumping on each other, enveloping each other in hugs, celebrating with family who’ve made their way down to the field.

I finally turn back to Meredith. “I think sometimes the stars just align. We’d been fighting tooth and nail all night. Houston is a great team with a dangerous bullpen. I don’t think there was any point tonight that my stomach wasn’t in knots. But we kept fighting. No one fights harder than a Berkeley ballplayer, and no one cheers harder than a Berkeley fan.”

Liam and Layla are going to love me for that one. PR training for the win.

The stadium erupts, and I sweep my gaze over the crowd, my grin threatening to break my face.

“Maybe the stars aligned, but I think there might have been a little talent in there too,” Meredith says with a teasing smile. “How did you feel stepping up to the plate?”

I lean in so my mouth hovers just above the mic. “Hungry.”

She tips her head back with a laugh. Her eyes glimmer. “And would you say you’re satisfied now?”

I nod. “Yeah, you could say that.”

She shakes her head at me. “Last question, and then I’ll leave you to your celebrating. After the ball hit the stands, you turned around and pointed to the crowd. It looked like you were pointing to someone in particular. Who was it?”

A lightness fills my chest. Even amidst the joy and jubilation swirling around me, there’s only one thing in this world that makes me feel like I’m floating on air.

“My boyfriend.”

Meredith’s smile freezes, and I can see it in her eyes. Confusion. Shock.

“I-I’m sorry. Can you repeat that, please?”

My smile widens. Holy fuck, that felt good. My chest feels like it’s about to split at the seams.

I lean forward and grip the mic. There will be no confusion about what I just said.

“I was pointing to my boyfriend.” I look up, and my gaze clashes with brown and gold. My heart takes off. Speeds right out of my chest, a home run straight to Frankie. He’s rocking a Berkeley World Series shirt, my brother standing by his side wearing one as well.

I straighten. Meredith is saying something, but I have ears and eyes for no one but the man beaming at me.

I stride up to him, a rainbow of blue confetti raining down between us. Those deep pink lips move. Something about congratulations. Or amazing. I don’t know. All I know is they’re mine.