“Go?” My brows shoot upward. “Go where? The prom? I’m flattered. Thought you already had a date, but if you insist…”
“Shut up!” Snyder hisses, still advancing on me with violence etched across his face.
I don’t move an inch. My voice is bored. “I’ve punched you out twice now, Snyder. You keep coming back for more, people will start thinking you’ve got a crush on me.”
“I saidSHUT UP!”
“And I said I don’t speak halfwit, raccoon-eyed rich boy. Keep up, will you?”
Charging forward, Ryan really looks like he might kill me. Right now, I’m feeling reckless enough to let him try. Thankfully, Chris and Andy are less keen on bloodshed. They step forward to block his path, forcing him back with unyielding grips.
“Let me go!” Ryan growls.
“Would you two kiss and make up already?” Andy snaps, his muscles straining. “No girl is worth this.”
My reply is instant. “Depends on the girl.”
“Whatever. I’m over this,” Snyder mutters, finally backing off. In his first wise move maybe ever, he walks over to the dugout where Carl MacDonald is drinking, swearing under his breath the whole way.
Chris looks at me and Andy. “Let it be known: I will miss you two goons, but I will not miss some of our teammates.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Andy says, raising his cup.
By midnight, the keg is empty and we’re all completely wasted. The bleachers are scattered with unconscious bodies. Red cups litter the infield like confetti. Steve Abbott is using first base as a pillow. Jason Samborn is slumped against the batting cage, snoring like a freight train.
Chris, Andy, and I are lying in the outfield, staring up at the stars. They swim around like fireflies before my eyes.
“Guess I should call for extraction,” Chris says, fumbling for his phone to text the JV team — tonight’s designated drivers. “Gotta get everyone out of here before the sprinklers turn on at 2AM.”
He stumbles off toward the bleachers to rouse the fallen soldiers.
“I can’t believe it’s over,” Andy murmurs when it’s just the two of us.
“Aren’t you trying out for the team at San Diego State?” I turn my head to look at him. “You’ll have a chance to play again.”
“I’m not talking about baseball, man. I mean…this. High school.” He shakes his head. “Took my last final on Friday. Playoffs are over. Yearbook is signed. All that’s left is prom and graduation.”
“Just graduation for me.”
“You’re not going to prom?”
“Nah.”
“What the hell, man?”
“No date.”
“Dude, I barely have a date. I’m taking June Woods. The girl has zero personality. If she were a genre, she’d be hold music.”
I snort. “She can’t be that bad.”
“Trust me. She is.” He grimaces. “What about Valentine?”
“What about her?”
“I always assumed…”
My tone flattens. “What?”