Rachel Hawthorne

“By the time I got down there, Bird was standing to the left of the backstop, near the warm-up area, smiling at Brandon. It was obvious he was trying not to get caught smiling at her, that he was supposed to focus on the game.
I scooted over until I was standing behind the dugout. Jason was still messing with his gloves. I was surprised the Velcro still worked, that it hadn’t worn down until all the tiny sticky teeth were gone.
“Hey, Jason,” I said. “Awesome no-hitter.”
I was vaguely aware of someone gasping and someone else moaning, as Jason came up off the bench fast, spun around, and stared at me like I’d morphed into something from The X-Files.
The guy who’d gasped, Chase, put one knee on the bench, so he could talk to me in a low voice and still be heard. “You’d better go.”
“Why? What did I do?”
“You never talk to the pitcher when…” He shook his head. “You just never talk to the pitcher when--”
“I just wanted to congratulate him on a good game--”
“It’s not over ’til it’s over,” Chase said.
“You jinxed me,” Jason said, crouching down in the corner, pressing his palms against his forehead, like he’d been struck with a migraine headache.”

Rachel Hawthorne, The Boyfriend League
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The Boyfriend League The Boyfriend League by Rachel Hawthorne
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