Page 117

Story: Left on Base

“I can't believe we’re hiding in bushes right now,” Callie mutters, swatting away what feels like an entire bug community that’s decided we’re trespassing.
“This is a new low.”
“Nah, that was when you dressed me like Malibu Barbie for a date and I ended up puking on the floor.”
She slaps my forearm while doing a weird dance to avoid what might be an ant invasion. “That wasn’t my fault!”
“Shh! I’m trying to read their body language!” I peek through the leaves, watching as Inez tries to engage Jaxon in what’s probably a very deep conversation about underground indie bands I’ve never heard of. His whole body’s screaming “I’d rather be anywhere else”—shoulders tense, eyes barely leaving his phone, holding it like it’s his only lifeline to sanity. Ha! Take that, Inez!
I’m so busy doing my victory dance in my head, I don’t notice the sprinkler head near my foot. When I try to shift for a better view, my foot catches on it and suddenly I’m auditioning for Olympic gymnastics.
Time slows down as I pinwheel my arms like a windmill in a hurricane. But instead of gracefully recovering like the main character I pretend to be, I face-plant straight into the concrete sidewalk.
CRACK.
“Holy shit! Oh my God, Cam, are you okay?” Callie scrambles over, her voice echoing in the quiet evening air.
I see Jaxon’s head snap up at Callie's voice. His eyes widen when he spots me on the ground, and before Inez can finish whatever she’s saying about her latest art installation featuring recycled coffee cups and existential dread, he’s bolting toward us.
I lift my head, tasting blood and what’s left of my dignity. “Did he see?”
“Your chin is split open and you’re worried if Jaxon saw you eat concrete?”
“...Yes?”
“You need stitches. Like, now.” She helps me up, and I catch my reflection in the athletic training center windows across from the Starbucks cart. Blood is dripping down my chin like I’m a vampire who sucks at drinking.
“Holy shit.” Jaxon’s voice comes from behind, jogging over—because of course. Of course this is happening.
I turn around, trying to smile but probably looking like a serial killer with blood on my face. “Oh hey! Just... testing the structural integrity of your sidewalk. It’s good. Very solid. Ten out of ten, would face-plant again.”
Jaxon chuckles at my attempt at humor but looks concerned and confused, which is fair, because I’m concerned and confused about my life choices too.
Inez follows him over, looking irritated that her deep conversation about whatever avant-garde thing she’s into got interrupted by my graceful swan dive.
“Uh, you need to go to the ER,” he says, handing me napkins to press to my chin. He nods to the parking lot. “I’ll go with you.”
“I’ll drive,” Callie says. “I have my mom’s car this week.”
At least the ER doctors will appreciate my story. Probably. After they stop laughing.
Rule: If he’s talking to another girl, turn and walk away. Or trip and end up in the ER. Either works. Style points for bleeding.
CHAPTER 21
WILD PITCH
CAMDYN
A poorly thrown pitch that lets a base runner advance.
Harborview’s ER is exactly what you’d expect at 9 p.m. on a Thursday—except maybe with more plastic utensils stuck in people than usual.
The fluorescent lights make everyone look like extras fromThe Walking Dead, and there’s that distinct smell I can only describe as “hospital trying to hide hospital.” Like they’ve weaponized bleach against the stench of desperation and bad decisions.
“Did you seriously fall face-first into concrete while hiding in bushes?” The nurse cleaning my chin tries not to laugh—and fails. Her name tag says “Jackie” and she’s clearly enjoying this way too much.
“I was testing gravity,” I mutter, staring at Jackie’s microbladed eyebrows as she works. “It works.”

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