Out of My League Read online

  Nearly causing my heart to skip a beat. “Uh, what are you doing?”

  “That girl over there. Redhead, with the Pekingese.” He looked ahead, expression calm and collected. It was annoying. “She was at the party. We want to show her we’re a real couple.” Walsh raised our joined hands slightly, as if saying this is us bonding. We must show off.

  I kept my voice casual, though my insides were chittering with nerves. “A real couple, huh? I could jump you if that makes us a bit more believable.”

  Walsh’s head snapped toward me, eyebrows high. “Uh—”

  “I’m kidding.”

  “Gosh. How am I supposed to know when you’re being serious?”

  “I roll my eyes when I’m serious.”

  He gave my hand a squeeze. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Fancy seeing you two here,” a voice interjected, one that was immediately familiar.

  Okay, how the heck did we keep running into him?

  Scott stood a few feet away with his arms folded over his chest, basketball shorts pulled up high on his waist. I gripped Walsh’s hand tighter in response, practically grinding his bones together.

  “Hey,” Walsh greeted with the perfect dose of nonchalance, so much smoother than I would’ve been. He looked ahead, expression calm and collected. It was annoying—no way I could even fake that amount of indifference. “What a surprise, Scottie. Enjoying a stroll too?”

  “Playing basketball.” Scott jerked his thumb over his shoulder. A basketball court was several feet behind him, and a few guys bounced a ball back and forth. “I come here a lot to play with some guys from the basketball team.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Walsh said, nodding.

  I glanced between them, the tension thick in the air. Yeah, we were fake dating, but I never entertained the idea of having to show it off. Holding hands in front of strangers was one thing, but faking in front of people we knew? In front of Scott for the second time? Beyond weird.

  I couldn’t get myself to speak, even though I knew I should’ve said something. Dina and Tina pranced around in the grass, completely oblivious to everything going on.

  “How was meeting Sophia’s parents, Walsh? Were they at each other’s throats or overly mushy gushy? They can never really decide.”

  Even with the summer breeze, heat crawled over my skin, up my neck and making me feel like I was burning. That knotted sensation in my stomach returned with a potent twist. The words felt wrong in the air, especially with Walsh being right in earshot. Fake dating was one thing—he didn’t have to know all my secrets.

  Scott’s lips curled into a mean smile, and the fact that the curve looked familiar shocked me.

  “They were happy as could be after breakfast this morning,” Walsh told Scott easily, not missing a beat. “We had to eat early so they could go to work, but it was nice.”

  Jeez, Walsh hadn’t been lying. He was a great actor. “Yeah, they’re doing great, Scott,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”

  Dina tugged on the end of the leash as she strained to walk on, Tina coming to gnaw at her heels. “We should get going,” Walsh told him. “These puppies can’t walk themselves.”

  “You two coming tonight?” Scott asked just as he’d begun to turn.

  Walsh nodded, slow, eyes darting to mine for a brief second. “Maybe just for a minute or two.”

  I wanted to ask where he was going, and now where I was going, but I didn’t know if that would mess with our game. Wouldn’t a fake girlfriend know where her fake boyfriend was going to be? Maybe, maybe not, but I didn’t risk it.

  Scott ended up just nodding his head once before heading back off toward the basketball court, barely glancing in my direction.

  I released a heavy breath as soon as he was out of earshot, my lungs on the brink of bursting. Leftover tension caused my fingers to tremble, and the hand that held the leash tightened its grip. “That was—”

  “Brilliant.” Walsh smiled, letting go of my hand. Cool air brushed my skin, and I wondered if my hand felt clammy to him. Ugh, what if it had? “Did you see his face, Sophia? He’s totally buying it.”

  How could Walsh tell by merely looking at his face? “Really?”

  “Totally.”

  I pursed my lips, not completely sold. “You’re trying way too hard.”

  “What? How?”

  With him looking at me like that, the urge to smack him was so strong. “We’re supposed to convince people that we’re dating, not planning a wedding.”

  He laughed at that, saying nothing in response.

  We walked together in quiet for a moment, a little girl on a tricycle pedaling past us. Dina tried to get in the path of her wheel, and I pulled her back at the last second. “Thank you for coming with me,” I told Walsh quietly. “It’s nice to walk with someone who can speak to me for a change.”

  “It’s what fake boyfriends do, right?” His voice was gentle, and as was the hand that lifted, pushing my glasses up my nose. I hadn’t realized they’d fallen low.

  Staring at his face, I noticed a faint, silvery scar underneath his right eye, as small as my thumbnail. I reached out with my free hand, tracing my fingertip along his skin. A featherlight touch, barely there. “What happened here?”

  His gaze never left mine. “Baseball cleat. Fourth grade. One of my teammates threw it at me.”

  “Some little league kid threw their shoe at you? Why?”

  “I told him that he couldn’t bat very well.” Walsh shrugged. “He couldn’t take the truth.”

  I snorted. “You were that kid? The dream crusher?”

  “Well, someone had to be.” His small smile was unapologetic. “Ask me who the kid was.”

  I looked at him for a moment before tipping my head. “No way. Scott?”

  “Who else would be that aggressive as a fourth-grader?”

  Dina pulled at my arm as I laughed, shaking my head at the thought of miniature Scott throwing a shoe at small Walsh. I stepped out from the tangle of leashes at our feet, glancing down. “Oh, your poor rich-boy shoes.”

  “What?” Walsh looked at his feet. “Oh.”

  Brown smeared the side of his expensive-looking shoe, probably coating along the bottom. “With dogs around, you should probably watch where you’re walking.”

  Walsh let go of my hand to switch the leash and proceeded to try and smear the offensive substance onto the grass. “Now you tell me.”

  “Should we clean the poop off your shoe together? Is that romantic?”

  His response was dry. “Ha-ha.”

  “What? Shouldn’t we get a photo and caption it, ‘This might’ve been an accident, but falling in love wasn’t’?”

  “Watch it, or I’ll wipe it on your ankle.”

  I jerked back just in case he tried it, nearly tripping over Dina’s wealth of leash. “So, what’s going on tonight that you’re hanging out with Scott?

  “Ryan’s just having a small party.” Walsh’s voice was hesitant as he rose. “He’s a guy on the baseball team.”

  “He’s having it on a Tuesday?”

  “His parents are out of town. It’s a real small thing.” Walsh slipped his shoe back on, stepping away from the pile. “Did you want to come with me?”

  Ah, it was that kind of party. The “no adults, just friends” kind of party. Most of the time, those included alcohol. “You should know that I don’t drink.” I don’t know why I blurted it out like a complete loser, but the words hung in the air anyway.

  Walsh made a noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t either.”

  I wanted to call him out on it, but he’d said it so simply, so quickly, that I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t telling the truth.

  “If you don’t want to go tonight, that’s okay. Sometimes they’re fun.”

  I probably wouldn’t have used the word fun. More like horrifying. Going to a party on my own free will without Edith? Ew.

  But wasn’t that what fake dating Walsh was for? Getting access to this
insider kind of thing? Getting exclusive information on things that I would’ve missed out on originally? Ryan’s party was a prime example. Without Walsh, I never would’ve been invited to this. And it was an excuse to get me out of the house. A win-win scenario, resting in the palms of Walsh’s hands.

  “Would my boyfriend like that?” I prodded with heavy sarcasm, peering at him underneath my lashes.

  Walsh didn’t look at me when I spoke, my words hanging between us, the question left unanswered and weighing in the wind. Boyfriend. Weird.

  He took his time smearing every inch of brown off his shoe, making sure it coated the grass before slipping the shoe back on.

  When Walsh looked up, he looked at me with a challenge in his eye. “Tina and I will race you to the end of the park.”

  “Poor Tina doesn’t know that she’s saddled with a slow runner. I’ve heard your run on the field is a mom-jog at best.”

  This time, both of Walsh’s golden eyebrows rose. “A mom-jog?”

  “Plus those awful shoes have you at a disadvantage. You’ll be slipping on the grass the entire time.”

  Amusement glittered across his gaze, though he tried to hide it. “Sheesh, woman, you’re attacking me left and right.”

  One of my shoulders lifted as I stretched my legs. “I talk a big game, what can I say?” I shortened Dina’s leash, gripping the bundle tightly in my hand. “You backing down?”

  “I guess you don’t know me very well,” Walsh replied simply, and then took off running. Tina, surprised by the sudden movement, had no choice but to chase after him, barking loudly.

  Dina started toward them first, leaving me kicking up grass as I lunged forward. “Whoa, wait! You’re such a cheater!”

  Even with his back turned to me, I could see Walsh tip his head back into the sunlight, his musical laugh echoing throughout the park. “Who’s got the mom-jog now, Sophie?”

  Chapter Eight

  I had time to kill before meeting Walsh again to go to Ryan’s party. Too much time. I couldn’t help but overthink the prospect of tonight, the looming doom hanging over my shoulder.

  Ugh, looming doom? What was I talking about? It was just a high school party. Sure, my last one had sucked bad.

  Real bad.

  I needed to distract myself, so I buried my nose in research for my article. I borrowed Mom’s personal laptop that she kept in the living room, powering up a search browser.

  Being in the journalism class gave me all kinds of access to the school’s information. By state law, Bayview was required to post its annual budget sheet for the public to see, and using my old credentials from class, I logged onto the server.

  One of the major points in my article was focused on unfair funding, so I crossed my fingers that something interesting would pop up.

  The first option read “Bayview High School Treasurer’s Reporting” and I clicked on it with lightning speed. A page with a whole lot of numbers loaded up, with two columns of revenues and expenses. Most of the rows were common things, such as Instructional Costs, Operation and Maintenance, Taxes.

  None of the numbers seemed out of the ordinary. Not that I knew what those numbers should look like, granted, but everything at least resembled the other sections in the amount.

  However, when I looked at the Athletics row, that number nearly doubled any other column. At the bottom of the page, I saw that there was a “Where the Money Comes From” link.

  “Honey?” Mom asked sleepily, moving from the hallway. “What time is it?”

  “Not sure.” I didn’t glance at the clock on the computer. She must’ve been napping—she had come back from the studio early this afternoon nauseous. I guess I hadn’t realized she’d been asleep this entire time.

  A bar chart pulled up on the page, with several different colors creating it, showing the athletic department’s budget from the past three years. The first year was lower than the last two, and the last two had a significant amount of blue to the bar. Much more than any other color. When I looked for the key, I read that the blue indicated Fund Modification. What did that mean?

  “I’m not feeling too great,” Mom went on, and I glanced up to find her pressing a hand against her stomach. “Can you get me a glass of water, Sophia? I’m going to go lay back down.”

  “Uh, yeah, just give me a second.”

  I had no idea what Fund Modification was, but it sounded sketchy. I wasn’t an expert in numbers or anything, but it wasn’t hard to use deductive reasoning. Changing the amounts in the funds. Transferring money to different spots. Could they do that? Were they allowed to transfer funds from other accounts like that? Maybe I was just making an assumption.

  After I hit the print button, I stood up from the couch, heading toward the kitchen to grab Mom her water. More information would have to be looked up for sure, but it was a step in the right direction.

  * * *

  “Should you be sitting that close to the fire, dude? You’re going to burn off an eyebrow.”

  The “party” at Ryan’s house turned out to be small, just like Walsh said. But by small, he meant small. Ryan’s house wasn’t nearly as big as Walsh’s, and neither was his gathering of people. Mostly baseball players showed up, all chilling in Ryan’s living room. No obnoxious music, drunken high schoolers, or alcohol.

  Well, there was a little bit of alcohol, not that I drank anything.

  Ryan had lit the fireplace in his living room and pressed his face as close to the flames as possible, letting the heat warm his face.

  “I doubt you’re going to be able to get girls with one eyebrow,” Zach continued from where he sat on an armchair, shaking his head of dark hair. The width of his shoulders made him look more like a linebacker than a baseball player, but it wasn’t hard to see what Edith liked about him. He was pretty cute. “You can barely get them now.”

  “You’ve never seen my charm at work, Balker.” Ryan pulled back from the fire to take a drink. “Walsh, you think I could rock a one-eyebrow look?”

  Walsh and I sat on the couch together, one of his arms draped across my shoulders. He’d cleaned up since earlier, replacing those horrible shorts with chinos. The fancy shoes were missing, replaced with black sneakers. “It would look a little funny if you ever tried to raise your eyebrows,” he replied without hesitation. “So I vote no.”

  Ryan looked to me. “Sophia?”

  I pressed my lips together to hide a grin. “I think I have to side with them. If anything, I’d burn them both off.”

  Walsh laughed at that and nestled me closer. “It’s unanimous. Move away from the fire, nimrod.”

  “I don’t know if we’re going to win tomorrow,” a different player said, lounging on the adjacent sofa. I couldn’t remember his name, but I thought it started with a T. “Walsh, your game has been off. I blame your new relationship mojo.”

  “Sophie isn’t the reason we’re losing games,” Walsh said immediately. “It’s because you think it’s a wise idea to come to games hungover.”

  For some reason, hearing him use that nickname now—Sophie—had me nearly smiling, no annoyance in sight. Not that our banter about it held much heat before, but hearing it roll off his tongue now made it different. Maybe it was the fact that we were in front of all his friends, and he wasn’t trying to make me invisible. He’d spoken it like an endearment, and that was something I could get behind.

  Wait. No. Not acceptable.

  “Or pre-hungover,” Zach added, grinning at Walsh.

  “No, it’s definitely Walsh,” a new voice added, and we all turned toward the entrance of the living room.

  Scott, the girl he’d been hanging onto at the party, and Celia Lemons walked into Zach’s living room, coming around the corner from where the front door was. The girl who’d been with Scott wore a pair of sweatpants and a workout shirt, her curly hair wild around her shoulders.

  Part of me was surprised she’d shown up to a party in sweats—the other part of me was jealous. I wish I’d worn sweat
s and not a fancy top and jeans.

  Celia glanced around the room, eyes resting on Zach.

  “He fell asleep at the game against Northwood last Friday,” Scott went on, not caring that no one replied, that no one greeted him. “Right there on the bench. Coach reamed him out for it.”

  “I wouldn’t talk, Scottie,” Walsh replied just as casually, unbothered. “I’m not the one who strikes out every game.”

  Scott just ignored that, though, brushing the words off so easily. “Sophia, have you met Jewel? Jewel Branson?” Scott gestured to the girl that was practically on top of his heel. “My new girlfriend?”

  Of course it had to be a unique name like Jewel. Unique, pretty, and I hated it. Okay, maybe not really. But I did hate that he’d moved onto someone prettier, better, and all the things that I wasn’t. And he was rubbing it in my face.

  “Hi, Jewel,” I told her, forcing myself to find a genuine smile.

  She showed her own set of sparkling teeth. “It’s so nice to meet you, Sophia. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Yeah, and I was certain that she hadn’t heard good things.

  “Find a seat, guys,” Ryan told them, gesturing to the open spaces. There was a couch kitty-corner to Walsh and me, where the other baseball player sat. “We’re just about to start a game of M.A.S.H. and paint each other’s fingernails.”

  Celia laughed at that, moving to sit on the arm of Zach’s chair, resting her legs along his. She leaned comfortably against the edge of his arm, hip pressed against his side, and Zach didn’t look like he was about to move.

  Disappointment welled. Was Edith right? Were they back together? I hoped not.

  “Ooh, really?” Celia glanced around. “Whose nails can I paint?”

  “You can paint mine,” Zach said from beside her, wiggling his fingers. “Only if it’s pink.”

  My gaze shifted over to where Scott sat with his own girlfriend. The air stalled in my lungs when I found that his eyes were already on me, noting where Walsh’s arm was slung over my shoulders.