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Story: Left on Base

need me to come over with emergency ice cream?
i have a pint of rocky road and zero dignity
text her
don’t be a coward
channel your inner fork
Back in my room, Mookie has finally collapsed in a heap of purrs on my pillow, exhausted from his reign of terror. I flop down next to him, staring at the ceiling. I stopped fighting it a long time ago. With Camdyn, it’s different. There’s no one else—never was.
The door slams open and Jameson storms in, pissed at the world. He chucks his backpack at the closet, misses, and it lands in the laundry basket. He’s muttering, jaw clenched.
“Hey,” I say, glancing over, but he doesn’t answer. He’s pacing now, fists balled, phone in hand, thumb flying across the screen.
Mookie lifts his head, ears back, watching Jameson like he’s the world’s worst nature documentary.
“You good?” I try again.
He stops, breathing hard. “Fine.”
He’s not fine. He’s about as calm as a shaken soda. I spot Callie’s name glowing on his phone screen a second before he turns away, thumb hovering. Whatever’s happening, it’s bad.
“Want to talk?” I offer, though I already know the answer.
He shakes his head, presses his lips together, and suddenly, with zero warning, hurls his laptop against the wall. It explodes into three pieces, skittering under the desk.
Mookie vanishes under the bed.
I sit up, startled. “Dude—Jameson—what the hell?”
He rakes his hands through his hair, breathing like he sprinted a mile. “Don’t. Just—don’t ask.”
He sits on his bed, head in his hands, silent. I want to help, but I know better. Some days, all you can do is let the people you care about implode in peace.
My phone buzzes—Fork Guy, again, because of course.
FORK GUY
bro just do it
what would mookie do?
mookie would probably eat the phone but you get my point
#sendit
I pick up my phone. My fingers hover above the screen and the block button. I think about all the almost-texts, all the times I chickened out or tried to play it cool. But the article, the conversation with Inez, the wild hope in my chest—they shove me forward.
I type:
Heyyy
I know you’re probably busy being famous, but… would you want to go out with me?
One date
No media, no softball, no baseball… just us

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