Stealing Bases Read online

  “And last but certainly not least, Zachary Murphy.”

  Zachary skips the steps, hops onto the stage, and grabs his sash from Sealer. He confidently walks right up to me.

  Oh no you don’t.

  He tries to hug me, but I step to the side. Then he lunges toward me again, attempting to plant a kiss on my cheek. I move like I’m in the batter’s box avoiding brushback pitches.

  “Congratulations to all the nominees,” Ms. Sealer shouts, ignoring the face-off between me and Zachary. Turning to the crowd, she announces, “This is your Beachwood Academy Junior Prom Court.” Then she waves for us to move together for a picture.

  Immediately, everyone begins to wrap their arms around one another. Still avoiding Zachary, I sprint to the other side of the pack. Then I shove between Brooke and Matt Moore, secretly enjoying the fact that Zachary’s attention is back to where it should be. Me.

  Zachary follows, annoying the prom court’s other members. He maneuvers between Matt Moore and me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I’m too squished in to move.

  “Congrats, Ky,” he says in my ear.

  Tingles creep down my spine.

  “See, me and you. It’s fate. Now you gotta to go to the prom with me.”

  I turn around to wrestle Zachary’s arm off my shoulders. I haven’t had time to sort out the zillion emotions still swirling in my stomach. I don’t want our fates to be sealed together for all photographic eternity.

  Of course, that’s when Zachary kisses my cheek.

  And before I have a chance to wiggle away, my fate is decided for me: Ms. Sealer snaps the photo.

  twenty-four

  “Welcome to Baja Spa and Salon,” a woman in all black announces as the girls from the basketball team and I make our way into the spa the night after the pre-prom assembly.

  Before we even have a chance to take in our surroundings, a man steps between Missy and me. “Hors d’oeuvre?” he asks. He holds out a shiny silver plate filled with olives, cheese spread, crackers, and fruit. Like the receptionist, he’s also dressed in all black. (Must be the uniform here . . .)

  Missy and I both grab napkins. She snatches up some black olives, while I grab crackers, cheese spread, and strawberries. We giggle when our fingers bump.

  “Savage.” Missy laughs.

  “You know I can’t say no to cheese spread,” I say.

  I’m about to ask the other girls—Eva, Tamika, Taylor, Jessica—if they’re enjoying their own selections from the hors d’oeuvre tray when a woman with straight blonde hair comes over to us. She has that I’m-too-cool-to-be-here look that screams “stylist.” Like her fellow Baja Salon employees, she’s sporting an impressive all-black ensemble, although in her case she’s livened things up with a chunky gold necklace and heeled ankle boots.

  Sure enough, the blonde woman announces, “I’m Avery. I’ll be one of your stylists today.”

  I scarf down my last remaining cracker as she continues.

  “Why don’t you girls follow me and the other stylists and I”—she motions to five similarly attired women—“will begin your hair consultations.”

  We trail Avery down a long, gold-painted hallway to the styling stations, and she continues to explain the course of today’s events. “I’m told that some of you will be sampling hairstyles for prom. Is that correct?”

  “Absolutely!” Jessica exclaims.

  Tamika quickly steps in to correct her. “They are. My senior prom isn’t for another few weeks. I’m just here for extensions.”

  Missy looks like she’s about to inform Avery that a few of Baja’s stylists will actually be coming to her house the night of the prom when Avery turns around abruptly and catches sight of Tamika. “Oh, you must be Tamika!” she says. “You’re the spitting image of your mother. She told me to expect you today. She’s one of our favorite clients!”

  Tamika shuffles around uncomfortably. Avery, satisfied that she’s made nice with one of her “favorite clients’” daughters, motions to each of our seats. I’m surprised when, for all Avery’s talk of Tamika’s mother, I’m the one assigned to her. Still, with all the stations located in a row, it’s not like she’s out of anyone’s earshot. “And are any of you girls on prom court?” she asks, looking left and right.

  “Uh? Hello?” Missy replies. “Only like all of us. Well, me, my best friend Kylie”—she leans over from her spot next to mine, giving me a nudge—“and our darling friend Tamika.”

  “Actually, I’m on the senior court,” Tamika chimes in. “But for some reason I still hang out with these midgets.”

  Somehow Tamika’s attitude just bounces off of Avery. “Ooooh. Very nice. What cut is your dress?” She asks, turning her attention to me as she finger-combs my hair.

  Missy glances at me through the reflection of the adjacent mirror. Before she can say anything, her stylist, a bald man in his early thirties, summons her to the sinks.

  “I don’t exactly have a dress yet,” I say. I look down and begin to pick at the silk black cover-up. “Or a date,” I squeak.

  “Well, a girl as gorgeous as you are can wear any dress she wants. So any hairstyle, up or down, will work with your beautiful mane. It’s just a matter of what you like best.” She smiles at me through the mirror. “And believe me, you’ll get a date. I’m sure the guys at your school are lining up to take you to the prom.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling her!” Jessica calls out, whipping around to face me. As she does, she disrupts her hair stylist, who’s experimenting with a French twist.

  Yeah, if by lining up, they mean Zachary and . . . Zachary.

  “Okay, let’s take you over to have your hair washed.” Avery brings me over to a young stylist-in-training by the sinks.

  The trainee wraps a black robe around me and sits me down, checking to see if the water temperature is okay.

  Missy is already seated at the sink next to mine. With her head now wrapped in a white towel, she leans my way. “I’m overseeing some sketches Hannah is working on just in case you change your mind about the dress.” She winks.

  I shake my head, thinking to myself that it’s good that Hannah isn’t here to hear this.

  Then I catch sight of Eva walking back to her stylist’s station. A towel is draped around her neck, but it doesn’t hide her white earbuds. I decide to shift the focus away from me. “Eva!” I call out. “Are you actually listening to music while you’re getting your hair done?”

  Eva doesn’t respond. She just taps her foot to her own private concert as she settles back into her chair.

  “Eva!” I yell again.

  Finally, Eva pulls one of the buds from her ear, visibly annoying her hairstylist. “Sorry, I can’t hear anything. I’m too busy checking out tracks for Xavier’s big gigs.” She places the earbud back in her ear.

  “Where is he playing?” Taylor asks. She unwraps her long legs out from under her.

  Eva must hear that because she manages to respond on the first go-round. “Oh, you know.Vi’s annual spring fling. And . . . prom!”

  “Oh my gosh! That’s amazing!” Jessica shrieks. Her stylist now looks as annoyed as Eva’s.

  “What else would you expect from ‘DJ Buzz Cut Cali’?” Eva asks, twirling an earbud in one hand.

  “So, who’s going to Vi’s party on Saturday?” Taylor asks. Compared to the rest of us, she’s hardly moved around at all since we sat down, so her updo is actually starting to take shape.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Missy says, grabbing a red grape off a leftover silver tray. “You’re going, right, Ky?”

  “Of course I am.” I eye Missy suspiciously. “Why wouldn’t I? Vi throws the best parties of the year.”

  “Yeah, remember the Halloween Hayride?” Missy asks, reminding me ofVi’s last big bash.

  A cute brunette assistant applies keratin to Missy’s wet hair.

  Missy doesn’t let up. “Remember when you caught Zachary on a one-on-one hayride with Chloe?” she asks.

 
; Okay, I get it. Missy thinks he’s a jerk because he won the stupid list. But why does she have to constantly remind me?

  “And that was before the rumors flew about Zachary and Chloe over Christmas break. Do you remember?” Missy looks at me.

  Do I . . . I begin to pick at the lining of my cover-up again, if only to stop myself from reminding Missy that today was a dumb day to get her hair straightened—she’s going to still be here long after the rest of us are gone.

  “Who could forget when tool-man Nick dressed up like Violet?” Tamika adds. “He was all decked out in Vi’s homecoming dress from last year. That was hilarious.”

  “I know! I think I’m scarred for life. I don’t know who was showing more boob that night, Nick or Chloe Simpson.” Missy glances at me.

  How can Missy keep doing this? I glare at her. Why would she purposely mention Chloe twice? Is she trying to remind me of Zachary’s mistakes? Or is she just trying to embarrass me?

  “We’re all dying to know: are you going with Zach?” Tamika turns toward me. “You’ve been so busy with softball, I haven’t had the chance to ask you.”

  “Keep your head straight, please,” Tamika’s stylist firmly states, while beginning to pin back sections of her hair.

  “Is Chloe Simpson entering a convent?” I sneer.

  “Uh, no . . .” Taylor says, clearly confused.

  “Good. Because she’s as likely to do that as I’ll be to go to the prom with Zachary,” I say, looking back at my buds to make sure they buy what I’m selling.

  My basketball buds giggle. Even Taylor grins.

  We’re all caught off guard when the people doing our hair interject. “I so miss high school.” Avery sighs.

  “Not me,” Eva’s stylist replies. She begins to brush out Eva’s hair.

  I decide to dig for more dirt. “You going with Dwight?” I ask Tamika.

  “We’re going as friends this year. With graduation and college coming up, I can’t handle the whole relationship thing right now.” Tamika pulls a magazine out of the rack by her feet.

  “Friends with bennies.” Eva looks up from her iPod.

  “How did Matt pop the prom question to you, Taylor?” Missy asks as her stylist rolls her blonde hair in oversized curlers.

  I feel for my heart charm. I could have Zachary if I wanted him. All I have to do is say the word. . . .

  Taylor lowers the glass she’s sipping from and places it on a nearby table. She hesitates for a second and looks at Missy. Finally, she spouts, “It was amazing. . . . Matt took me to the beach two weeks ago. The same spot we went to when we first met up one night after a game at the beach courts.”

  Grr . . . Of course little miss Taylor didn’t mention what else she did on the beach courts (aka hook up with a certain Zachary Murphy—a Zachary Murphy that belonged and still belongs to me).

  A few seconds later, Taylor’s voice pulls me out of my head. “Matt had a whole picnic set up for me with all my favorite foods. When I opened the basket, a note was inside.”

  “Awwww . . .” Tamika, Eva, and Missy sing.

  “That’s so sweet,” Avery adds.

  I stare at my stylist as she experiments by twisting my hair tight against my head.

  “Let me guess, the note said, ‘Will you go to the prom with me?’” Missy yells over the sound of a blow dryer.

  Taylor shakes her head. “Better. It was a clue that led to another clue, to another, and then to a spot with a bunch of seashells.” She smiles. “When I looked closer, I realized he spelled out—”

  Missy finishes her sentence. “Will you go to the prom with me?”

  Taylor corrects her. “Yeah, but in seashells.”

  “Aww . . .” rings out through the spa again.

  For God’s sake. Please give me a brush so I can jam the handle down my throat.

  “How did Xavier ask you, Eva? At some club?” Jessica asks.

  Eva rests her leg over the side of the chair and pops out her earbuds. “You know it! Saturday night. He announced it DJ style.” She pretends to scratch some records while sticking out her tongue to the side.

  The group bursts out in giggles as she mocks her boyfriend.

  I don’t. Not because it’s not funny. Eva’s hilarious. Because everyone in this salon has lost their mind.

  “He totally sticks out his tongue like that when he’s working.” Tamika cracks up.

  I guess Missy feels like we’re veering too far away from talking about her because she pipes up. “So, are you guys ready to wear your Banana Fad dresses?”

  “Where is our resident designer?” I ask.

  “Hannah’s working hard on the dresses,” Taylor says. “She’s swamped.”

  Of course.

  “Is everyone wearing Hannah’s designs?” I look around at the girls.

  “Yup,” they answer in unison.

  “They’re originals. Who wouldn’t?” Tamika shrugs.

  “What’s Banana Fad?” Avery asks, obviously eager to be the first to get in on all the latest trends.

  “Oh, it’s only the hottest new name in fashion,” Missy declares.

  No, it’s not. I can’t let that one slide. “It’s a thing Missy’s doing with another girl in our high school.”

  Missy looks horrified. “A thing?” she asks.

  “Ideally, it’s Missy’s ticket into college,” I explain.

  “Really?” Avery asks.

  “Well, if by ‘ticket,’ Kylie means that admissions officers are going to love the marketing portfolio I develop through this enterprise, then yeah,” Missy clarifies, taking a sip of her water.

  “Oh . . .” The stylists look at each other and smile.

  “Are all of you girls wearing these dresses?” Missy’s stylist asks.

  “The bigger question is: Is Kylie wearing Banana Fad?” Tamika eyes me.

  I point to the ceiling again. “Are pigs flying?” I look at Missy and grin. “Just kidding.”

  Missy’s smile disappears and she takes another gulp of her water.

  “Relax, Miss. It’s not like I’m saying anything bad about you. I mean, it’s not your so-called enterprise.”

  Missy drowns her frustrations in her water.

  “And the best part about wearing Banana Fad is none of us had to register our dresses online on that insane Beachwood prom page because each one is an original,” Taylor says, ignoring my comment.

  “So true,” Missy adds. She shoots me a snotty look.

  “What, Missy hire you to spout off commercials for Banana Fad?” I toss a strawberry at Taylor, who catches it.

  “Nice catch,” Missy says. “Maybe Taylor should try out for softball.” She looks at me. “Maybe she can pitch.” Missy smirks.

  What a bit—

  “B-ball only for me,” she says, stretching out her long thin legs across the gleaming floor. “My hands are for inside the paint.” Taylor holds up her massive man hands.

  “I know. I wish Hannah was here to hear this, but I’m seriously impressed with her. I mean, you should see the dresses,” Missy says. “She’s good for a little girl.”

  “I’m impressed with her and I don’t even know her,” Missy’s stylist adds, smoothing out Missy’s platinum hair.

  “Hannah’s the bomb.” Taylor giggles.

  Hannah’s not the bomb. Not this day, this month, this year.

  “Missy, you never told us how Andrew asked you,” Jessica says.

  Oh please, not another invite story. I feel myself start to hyperventilate and tear off the silk cover-up. I climb off the chair—there’s no way I’m hearing about Andrew and his roses one more time. “Excuse me,” I say to Avery. “I have to go.”

  “But we’re not done here,” Avery implores.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I run back through the hallway, ignoring the chorus of “Ky!” and “Where is she going?” Then I step through the glass doors. I just need some air.

  I take deep breaths and pull my phone out of my pocket, att
empting to distract myself. That’s when I notice the red light is blinking. Quickly, I tap on my voice mail.

  “Hey, Ky. You want romance?” says Zachary’s recorded voice. “I’ve got me some romance.” He clears his throat. “Roses are red. Violets are blue. I need a prom date. How about you?”

  I hit “delete.” Next message.

  “Hey, Kylie. It’s Amber. I was wondering if you could, er, um, include me in your limo for prom? If not, I understand. Bye. Oh. And my number is—”

  Once again, I hit “delete.” And for the last one . . .

  “Hi, sweetie, it’s Mom. I just wanted to thank you for leaving me a message about your prom court nomination. I’m so proud of you, honey.”

  Chills sprint up my back.

  “I’m going to fly in on Friday so we can go shopping. Text me when you get a chance and let me know who you’re going with this year. I’m assuming it’s Mr. Zachary Michael Murphy. See you soon.”

  I save Mom’s message.

  Finally.

  My breathing’s returned to normal, so I turn around to rejoin my buds inside the salon. As I pull open the glass doors, I’m assaulted with another prom invite story. I freeze when I hear Tamika rambling something about Hershey’s Kisses and Dwight saying he “kisses the ground Tamika walks on.”

  I let go of the door and turn back to the outside world. Again, I pull out my phone. And without looking at it, my fingers know what to do.

  Zachary answers on the first ring.

  twenty-five

  The next day at an away game, I’m planted on the bench once again, feeling sorry for myself. I should be psyched—Coach announced we earned our spot in the prestigious Desert Invitational tournament for the first time in ten years. Plus, we’re playing Richland, our biggest basketball rivals, who we just beat in the championship game a few short months ago. But I’m not. Because I won’t really be a part of it. At this point, I’m just a spectator.

  I try to calm myself by thinking about what a nice convo I had with Zachary last night. As usual, he knew how to talk me off the ledge, so much so that after we spoke, I was relaxed enough to finish up my salon appointment and make small talk with the other girls.