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CHAPTER TWO

KAMRYN

I run as fast as my ten-year-old legs allow as I find my way back to the dressing room where she told Bailey and me to wait. I’m trying to make sense of the bits and pieces of a conversation I just overheard.

Bailey’s worried eyes lift from her book and widen when I breathlessly return and close the door behind me. “Where have you been, Kam? Mommy said to stay put.”

“Bails, something is wr—"

Before I can finish my sentence, the door reopens and Mommy walks in. She grabs my hand. “Kamryn, come with me. We have a wardrobe fitting.” She gives her fake smile which I’ve come to learn is not a good thing. “It looks like you two have secured a spot in a television show. It’s premiering after the Super Bowl. It will catapult both of you to superstardom.”

Bailey and I look at each other, exchanging a million words without having to utter a single one. We overheard our father bargain with our mother that if we didn’t get this television show, she’d give in and let us go to regular school. We’ve been homeschooled by our mother to allow us the flexibility to go to auditions and attend modeling shoots. Despite our protests, we’ve been in dozens of commercials and print ads over the years.

Mommy now wants us on a television show too. She doesn’t care that we don’t want it. We want to be normal kids.

We’re sick of being on sets. We’re sick of Mommy trying to teach us math in between takes. She doesn’t even do it right. When we get home every day, I teach Bailey the right way. The same goes for grammar.

We’ve been purposefully messing up at this all-day audition, hoping they would select other child actors for the role. We were terrible. Why would they hire us?

She sneers, “You should look a little more appreciative. You two are about to become the biggest child stars on the planet. You’ll be set for life. You won’t struggle like I’ve had to.”

I ball my fists and grit out, “We don’t want to do it. I want to play softball. Bails wants to play basketball. We both want to go to real school and do fun activities. We want more time to be with our friends.” Tears threaten my eyes, but I don’t like to cry in front of her. “We want to be…normal.”

She scrunches her face in complete and total disgust. “You’re too pretty to waste your time on sports and other nonsense. Trust me, beauty fades. You should take advantage of it while you can. Why be ordinary when you two have the faces to be extraordinary?” She holds her hand out to me. “Now come on, Kamryn. Let’s go to the wardrobe room.”

I cross my arms in defiance. “What about Bailey? She needs to be fitted too.”

Mommy shakes her head. “You’re the same size, and the room is too small for so many bodies.” She grabs my wrist and pulls me. Hard. “Let’s go. We can’t keep them waiting. Your sister will read her book while we wait, won’t you, sweetie?” Her eyes move to my sister.

Bailey forces a frightened smile. “O…okay, Mommy.”

I shake my head emphatically. “I don’t want to leave my sister. This place gives me the creeps. ”

Mommy grits her teeth. “Kamryn! I’m not up for your shit. Now!”

Bailey worriedly whispers, “Just go. I’ll be fine.” Bailey hates it when I get into trouble, which happens nearly every day.

I swallow hard and let my mother pull me down the hallway. I have a bad feeling about this. There’s something inside me telling me I need to get back to my sister. I need to protect her.

I look up at Cruella, my nickname for our wretched mother. “Mommy, I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the dressing room in five minutes. Go pick out the outfits you like.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You never let me help pick your wardrobe.”

I give her a fake smile and bat my eyelashes at her while I lie, “I trust you, Mommy.”

She slowly nods before making her way toward the dressing room area. As soon as she rounds the corner, I quickly make my way into the kitchen and start opening drawers until I find something useful.

I then sprint back toward my sister, immediately seeing Shrek about to turn the knob on her dressing room door. Shrek is what Bailey and I call the casting director. He’s a big-eared, old, ugly guy with more nose and ear hair than hair on his head. He’s always smelly and always sitting too close to us. I love making Bails laugh by making gagging faces behind his back.

Marching right up to him, I shove the fork into his upper thigh. Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to cause a little pain.

He freezes in shock.

With all the bravado I can muster, I say, “If you go near my sister, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

He looks down and scowls at me. I can see his nose hairs too close from this angle. Gross.

His mouth twitches a few times before snarling, “Go find your mother, little girl.”

“I’m here for my sister, and there’s not a chance in the world I’m leaving without her. If you don’t walk away right now, I’ll start screaming at the top of my lungs.”

He stares at me with pure venom. I don’t care at all. I’m standing my ground. This man will not go into that room with my sister.

Eventually, he turns and walks back toward his office. I let out a huge breath of relief.

Opening the door, I see Bails sitting on the couch, innocently reading her book. Holding out my hand, I say, “Come with me. I won’t go anywhere without you again. Ever.”

My eyes pop open, and I sit up, breathing heavily. My clothes are sticking to my sweaty body like a second skin. I look around. It was just a nightmare. It’s been eighteen years since that day, but the nightmares never leave me. What was he doing there? What if I didn’t come back for her? I vowed that day to never leave her side, and I never will.

It’s also the last day I ever called Beverly Hart mother.

Looking back at that day through the years has given me perspective. Some days, I hope I misinterpreted the situation, but most days I’m confident I didn’t.

At least this nightmare was true to the events of that day as I remember them. Sometimes I have them where I don’t come back for Bailey. After those, I don’t let myself sleep for a week.

I look at the clock. It’s three in the morning. I got three hours of sleep. That’s not bad for me. I’ve been an insomniac since that day. Half because of the nightmares, and half because I have this constant need to check on my sister to make sure she’s okay.

I get up and tiptoe over to her bedroom. Quietly opening her door, I see her peacefully asleep. Relief washes over me. She’s so pure and good-hearted. I know I’ve manipulated things in our lives to keep her close to me, but it’s because I love her and want to keep her safe.

She was a great basketball player in high school. An all-state basketball player. I knew we weren’t going to end up at the same college if I didn’t do something drastic. I all but forced her to start playing softball so we could be together. Even though she’s the better overall athlete, I was a superstar softball player with offers from every top college softball program in the country. I chose the best school that agreed to give my sister a scholarship too. I knew she’d end up a star. She can do anything she sets her mind to.

When we graduated from college and she considered getting her masters in childhood education, I again manipulated things to make sure we were drafted by the same professional softball team out of Chicago and begged her to come with me. The thought of living far away from her was adding to my always-present anxiety.

And when Reagan Daulton, the owner of the Philly Anacondas, called me about signing me to her team, I let her know we were a package deal. In fairness to Bails, she’s become an elite softball player too. Mrs. Daulton was more than happy to acquiesce to my demand.

Here we are, ten years removed from high school, and Bails and I never do anything without each other. She doesn’t know exactly what happened that day, but at the time, she suspected something had gone down. That’s when I stopped considering Beverly Hart my mother, and I wasn’t afraid to make it clear. It’s also when I started truly acting out so we could eventually stop being pushed into something we hated. It took two more years, but we finally enrolled in regular school and were able to participate in activities of our choosing. That’s when our mother started hitting the bottle. Hard.

Grabbing my laptop, I plop down on the couch and do what I do almost every night.

We’re in the locker room about to head out to our first game of the season. The first game ever for the Philly Anacondas franchise. It’s kind of cool to be a part of history. And our team is good. Very good. Even though Bailey and I haven’t played with Arizona and Ripley in six years, it’s as though no time has passed. There’s a chemistry between the four of us that you can’t manufacture. It’s just there.

Coach Billie walks out of her office. She’s about fifteen years older than us. She is a former Olympic outfielder. She’s tiny, with light hair and blue eyes. She’s got more energy and enthusiasm than a brand-new puppy.

She smiles at me. In her cheery demeanor, she asks, “How are you feeling, Kam? Ready to kick ass?”

“Always, Coach Billie.”

She does her trademark pump of her fist. “Excellent. You’re the shortstop. That means you’re the team leader. Our general. King Cobra, if you will. The younger players on the team look up to you, Bailey, Ripley, and Arizona. You’re all legends and seem likely to be on the Olympic team in four years. I need you to teach them. To guide them. To lead them.”

I salute her. “Yes, commander.”

Her steadfast smile falls a bit as she rubs my back. “Is everything okay? You look tired.”

I’ve been tired for eighteen years. I force out a smile. “I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Must be the new city. I think it’s an adjustment for everyone.”

I nod and lie, “Probably.”

She must pick up on something because she says, “Kamryn, my door is always open to you. I love being your biggest cheerleader, but I can also be a friend when you need one.” She looks over at Bailey, Arizona, and Ripley. “Maybe when you need one who isn’t quite as entrenched in your life.”

“Thanks, Coach. I’m good. I’m excited about the game.”

“Fantastic.”

As she returns to her office, I walk over to my friends who are talking to our young third baseman. Her name is Amber, and they seem to be consoling her. I pinch my eyebrows together. “What’s wrong? ”

Arizona winces. “Her boyfriend just broke up with her.”

I shake my head. “Asshole. Just before opening day? What a prick. We can key his car after the game. Ooh, maybe we’ll pour some sugar in his gas tank.” Unbeknownst to Bailey, I did that to her ex-boyfriend in Chicago. He dicked over the wrong woman. “Is this the guy you said moved in with you a few months ago?” I ask.

Amber visibly swallows. “Yes. He said he’s moving in with someone else. And before me, he was living with another woman.”

I give her a knowing smile. “Ahh, I know guys like him. They’re called hobosexuals.”

She has a look of confusion on her face. “He’s not gay.”

“Not homo sexual. Hobo sexual. It’s a person who jumps from relationship to relationship so they have somewhere to live. He didn’t even pay rent, did he?”

She shakes her head.

“Yep, a hobosexual. Such an asshole move. Don’t take it personally. He’s basically a con artist.”

Bailey stares at me. “You do have a gift for making up words, but this one is dead-on accurate. What a great term.”

I take a bow. “Thank you, but I can’t take credit. That’s an Urban Dictionary term. I’m fluent in Urban Dictionary, arguably the greatest work of literature in the twenty-first century.” I look back to poor Amber, knowing I need to turn her frown upside down. “I bet I can put a smile on your face in under ten seconds.”

She whimpers, “Doubt it.”

“What does the receptionist at a sperm bank say when a man is walking out the door?”

“W…what?”

“Thank you. Come again soon.”

Amber lets out a giggle, as do Arizona and Ripley. Bailey rolls her eyes at me but knows I was doing what was necessary to snap Amber out of it.

It works.

We’re all in the dugout now just before our game is about to start. I keep an eye on Amber. She seems to be okay, smiling with the other young players on the team.

The franchise owner, Reagan Daulton, walks into the dugout. She’s in an Anacondas blue pantsuit with matching heels. She’s an imposingly attractive woman with perfectly blown-out blonde hair, blue eyes, and makeup that looks like it was professionally applied. What’s even more shocking is that she’s only a few years older than us.

She gives us a genuine smile and says to no one in particular, “Are you ready for the first-ever game of the Philly Anacondas?”

We all nod. Arizona answers, “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Daulton scrunches her face. “Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old. Reagan will be just fine. Anyway, I wanted to wish you luck. I know the stands are only half full today, but I’m confident I’ve assembled a team and a marketing plan that will fill them in no time. Don’t be discouraged.”

I wonder if she realizes that half-full stands are considered good in professional softball. Even during our playoffs, we don’t get many more fans than this. Softball doesn’t get the same attention that baseball does.

She motions to me. “Kamryn, can I speak with you for a moment?”

I nod. “Of course.”

We step aside, out of earshot of any of my teammates. She places her hand on my shoulder. “Coach Billie tells me that you’re the team leader.”

I can’t help but smile with pride. “It’s nice to hear that. I do what I can.”

“I have really high goals for this team, for you as individuals, and for women’s sports in general. ”

I have no idea what that means, but I respond, “That all sounds good to me.”

She nods. “I know you have a background in modeling.”

“It’s been a hot minute, but yes. I dabble now and then. Nothing too serious. I take a few jobs here and there to make ends meet.”

I didn’t do any modeling for about a decade after we finally got to go to real school and do real activities, but I’ve done a little in the past few years to help pay the bills in the off-season. Always on my terms though. Bailey refuses to do any modeling. She usually finds nannying jobs both during and after our seasons. She loves little kids. As good as she is with them, that’s how bad I am with them. I honestly don’t know why she enjoys the little monsters as much as she does.

Reagan studies me carefully. I can almost see the wheels turning. “I’ve watched a few of your postgame interviews from over the past few years. There’s something extra about the way you conduct yourself. You’re quite witty. You have an outgoing personality and enjoy the limelight. What are your plans for life after softball?”

I haven’t told another living soul what I’m planning, and I’m certainly not going to start with Reagan Daulton. I shrug. “I’m not sure yet. For now, I’m focused on making this team a success and, hopefully, making the Olympic team in four years.”

She tilts her head to the side. She’s trying to read me, but I’m not giving anything away. No one has a better poker face than me. I don’t care how smart this woman is, she won’t get what she wants from me right now, and that’s information.

Eventually, she gives me a small smile and says, “I’ve been keeping a close eye on you. I know what you’re capable of. Go out there and put on a show they won’t forget.”

I think she means more than the softball, but she doesn’t elaborate further, and I’m not about to ruffle feathers with someone as powerful as her.

I reply with a simple, “Yes, ma’am…err, Re agan.”

She lets out a laugh as she exits the dugout, and we make our final preparations for the game.

As we take the field for the top half of the first inning, I see commotion in the stands behind our dugout. It’s Layton, Cheetah, Quincy, and Ezra. People must be excited to see four famous baseball players. That’s not the norm at professional softball games. It’s great that they’re here supporting us.

I learned the other night that they’re truly nice guys. In fact, we’re supposed to go out with them again after this game.

As soon as Cheetah’s eyes find mine, he smiles. He has the biggest, most genuine smile I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s equal parts playful and sexy. And his dimples? Holy shit, they’re hot.

I was immediately attracted to him when we met. So much so that I didn’t want to go home with him. I knew if I did, I’d be done with him when it was over, and I’m just a little too interested to see how much tension we can build before we inevitably get to the main event. Besides, he strikes me as the type of guy who likes a little chase. I plan to give him the chase of his life.

Once he notices me looking at him, he immediately pulls his shirt over his head. Wow, he’s ripped. He’s tall and not as broad as some of his teammates. I know he’s a speed player, so I assumed he’d be scrawny, but he’s not. He’s got muscles and washboard abs. Yummy.

Sure enough, in thick, black Sharpie, he has Kam’s Kitten written across his chest. What the hell? I think he also has a huge snake drawn on there like it’s going into his pants. It looks like it was professionally done.

Standing on his chair, he lifts his arms and yells out, “Kam bam is the bomb! Go Anacondas! I love softball!”

He then takes it a step further and does a little dance number that would make Magic Mike jealous. All the fans are watching him with amusement. He obviously loves being the center of attention. This guy definitely makes me laugh.

The game begins. Ripley shuts down our opponent with three strikeouts to begin the game. She’s throwing heat right now. Unhittable. She’s only getting better with age. She’s truly a generational pitcher. If any of us will be in the Olympics, it will be her.

We head to the bottom of the first inning. Arizona leads off with a perfect bunt and then steals second base. Our two-batter grounds out to shortstop, but Arizona doesn’t advance to third on the play.

Bailey then steps into the batter’s box. Four pitches later, she hits a bomb that falls just over the left-field wall for a home run. I throw my hands in the air. “My fucking sister!”

In her always-classy, demure way, she quietly and quickly rounds the bases until we all greet her at home plate to congratulate her. I love watching her excel. I wish she took a little more joy in it.

Now it’s my turn to bat. I selected “Save a Horse [Ride a Cowboy]” by Big & Rich as my walkup song. Cheetah and the boys all start laughing when they hear it. Naturally, Cheetah stands again and dances like a cowboy, complete with his pretend lasso that he mock-throws my way before reeling me in.

I inwardly laugh before stepping into the batter’s box. I dig in and get set. The first pitch comes in, and I crush it. It’s a no-doubter over the centerfield wall. Back-to-back home runs for my sister and me. I love it when that happens.

I make a spectacle of flipping my bat and holding my arms in the air as the crowd stands and cheers for me. They play “Save a Horse” on the speakers again as I slowly trot around the bases, enjoying my moment. The stadium may only be half full, but everyone there is dancing and having a great time. It’s been a while since softball was this much fun.

I’m with Arizona, Ripley, and Bailey. We’re walking down the city block, about to meet the guys at Screwballs to celebrate our big victory tonight.

Some random man in a bunny costume runs down the street screaming about the Cougars. I’ve learned quickly that this city has a lot of personality and a lot of crazy characters. It’s got a completely different vibe from Chicago. It’s grittier, and I like it.

Bailey shakes her head in disbelief. “I guess the Easter Bunny is out in July in Philly.”

I twist my lips. “Does anyone find it weird that the Easter Bunny hides eggs?”

Ripley shrugs. “Why is it weird?”

I answer, “Rabbits don’t lay eggs. Where did they come from?”

Her jaw drops. “Holy shit. I’ve never thought of that.”

Bailey sighs. “This is the crap my sister contemplates when she’s up all night. One night last week, I woke up and she immediately asked me if I’ve ever considered what strap-on backward spells.”

I see Ripley and Arizona trying to figure it out. They both start laughing hysterically when they do.

I nod. “Crazy, right?”

Arizona lifts an eyebrow. “You? Yes.”

“Judge all you want, but I gain an extra eight hours of knowledge every night that you guys don’t.”

Bailey shakes her head. “Because the human body requires sleep to function. You’re supernatural.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “I’ve had a lot of men and women tell me that.”

We approach Screwballs, and as soon as we step inside, the entire bar stands and claps. We all swivel our heads and look at each other. What is happening? Why are they clapping? Did someone famous walk in behind us?

The owner, an older man, approaches us with a giant smile on his face. “We had your game playing on all the televisions tonight. It was my first softball game. I can’t get over how great you ladies play. Everyone was mesmerized by the way you dominated the other team.” He holds up a camera. “Can we get a picture of you for you to sign that I’ll hang on the wall?”

We look at each other in a bit of bewilderment before we all happily agree and then pose for several photos with some of the patrons. I see the guys in our big booth, smiling throughout the interaction. They cheered like madmen tonight, and it’s cool that they’re being so supportive.

After the impromptu photo session, we make our way to the booth in a straight line, with me in the far back. Layton smiles. “Kam, you’re technically the last to arrive.”

When Arizona and Quincy were kids, their mom created a game in which the last person to arrive at the dinner table had to tell the group some random fact. This game not only enforces good habits about being on time for things but also forces you to constantly have random facts on hand.

I’ve seen it in action at the Abbott house. Frankly, it’s interesting. I love learning new, random things.

Apparently, Quincy has carried the tradition to every team he’s ever played on. The guys get a kick out of it. By virtue of friendship, it’s carried through to us as well. I don’t mind. I always have random shit churning through my head.

“Hmm. Let me think.” I briefly tap my lip before a good one occurs to me. “Do you know why bananas are crooked?”

Cheetah smiles. “For the same reason Ezra’s penis is crooked. Nature hates him.”

Ezra smacks Cheetah’s arm. “My dick isn’t crooked, asshole.” Then he mumbles, “Maybe a little, but at least I don’t have elephantiasis of the nuts.”

The guys all laugh while Cheetah gives them the finger. Men are such idiots.

I place my hands on my hips. “Does anyone want to know the answer?”

They all nod .

“Because of two interconnected reasons. One, they grow upward in opposition to gravity, which is always pushing against them. And two, they move toward the sunlight. Those two facts together cause them to be crooked.”

Cheetah shrugs. “That’s not why Ezra’s penis is crooked. He has no game and therefore never has a reason for it to grow upward.”

The guys all chuckle again. Even Ezra laughs this time. Men are so different from women. I would never insult my friends like that.

I force Cheetah to lift his shirt so I can see the writing and the artwork closeup. The snake is really good. He denies having it professionally done, but I’m confident he did.

After I take several pictures with Cheetah and his bare chest, which has my name on it, we have a few rounds of drinks, good conversation, and even a little dancing mixed in.

We’re on the dance floor, and Cheetah has his eyes on me the whole time. He happens to be a really good dancer. I ask, “Were you one of those weird kids who took ballroom dancing lessons as a kid? Did you wear tight pants and have slicked-back hair?”

“No.” He shakes his hips. “I’m Latino. Dancing and hip action in general are in my DNA. I’ve got a secret for you though. Trey was one of those weirdos. He can legit ballroom dance. You should have seen the two of them at their wedding. It looked like an episode of Dancing with the Stars .”

I look over at Trey and Gemma, who joined us tonight. He’s twirling her all over the place while they both smile and laugh.

“Wow, they’re amazing.”

He nods. “They are. You’re a good dancer too.”

He grabs my hips and moves them to the beat of the music.

I place my hands on his shoulders as we continue dancing. “I’ll give you a confession, kitten. I wanted to take dance lessons as a kid, but our mother wouldn’t allow it.”

His face falls. “Why not? My sisters all took dance lessons when they were really little, though only one was any good. ”

“Our mother was a controlling asshole. We weren’t allowed to participate in normal activities until we were twelve. That’s kind of late to start dancing, and I really wanted to play ball. I had to choose.”

“That sucks. All kids should do whatever activities they want. They should try everything.”

I shake my head. “We couldn’t do anything. Anything . Hell, I had to stash Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups beneath my floorboard in my room because she wouldn’t let us have candy.”

“Best candy ever.”

“Agreed. But only the dark chocolate kind.”

His lips form an O. “Oooooh. Hard to find, but very good.”

I nod. “I’m all for anything dark chocolate, but my mother monitored our diets like a hawk. She feared us gaining weight and losing modeling jobs.”

“Your mom sounds like a peach.”

“You have no idea. Speaking of peaches. What do you think of that blonde over there?” I nod toward an attractive woman who’s shaking her ass.

His face scrunches. “I’m not into blondes. I feel like they’re all fake. What do you call a blonde doing a handstand?”

“What?”

“A brunette.”

I giggle. “Nice. Hmm, I don’t know. I’m into blondes. Maybe it was my time in

California. How about another bet?”

His lips curl up in amusement. “Same terms?”

“Same terms, kitten.”