About twenty minutes later, I was plopping down on the couch in front of the television, ready to watch some trashy TV until the Mets game came on. I lifted the burger I’d fixed to my mouth just as my phone lit up beside me, blasting out the theme song from Battlestar Galatica.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder, eager to dive into my hamburger.
“Hey, champ,” came the booming answer, “how did lessons go tonight?”
“Great!” I forced cheerfulness in my voice.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, definitely! I’m definitely improving!” I assured him.
“You are such a liar,” he laughed.
I laughed. “I know. I swear, though, I think I am getting better.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he answered. “Have you eaten?”
I looked down at my hamburger, which was getting colder each second that I was on the phone with him. “No, but I…”
“Awesome. Craig gave me tickets to the Mets game tonight. You wanna go?”
I sat up. “Yeah, definitely.”
“All right, give me time to get home and we’ll head over there, okay?”
“Perfect!” I sprang up off the couch and flew into the kitchen, where I wrapped up the burger and stuffed it into the fridge. I went upstairs, put my Mets jersey on, threw my messy brown hair into a ponytail, slipped my worn out Chucks on, and then went downstairs to wait for my dad on the front porch.
“Zoey-bell!”
I groaned, putting my head in my hands and wondering, not for the first time, how I got myself into situations with Ash Matthews. I wish he would just move away so I didn’t have to see him. Every. Single. Day. “Go away, Ash.”
“You going to the game tonight, Z?” Ash said, ignoring me and coming to sit next to me on the stoop.
“No, I just like wearing my jersey randomly while waiting on my front stoop,” I said, sarcastically.
“You’re so mean! Why you always gotta be such a heartbreaker with me?” he said, leaning back on his palms. I glanced over, catching a glimpse of his toned abs between his shirt and jeans.
I blushed and turned away. “If you leave me alone, Ash, I promise I’ll be nicer to you.”
“Come on, we’ve been next door neighbors for, like, our whole lives. Aren’t we friends?”
I burst out laughing at that one. “Do you call shooting spit balls at me during fourth period ‘being friends’?” I asked.
“All fun and games, Z, all fun and games,” Ash said dismissing it with a wave. “Don’t you remember that boys are mean to the girls they like because they’re too awkward to actually do anything about it?”
I shook my head, looking back at him and getting sucked into those stupid, stupid, stupid blue eyes. “You don’t like me, Ash Matthews.”
He sat up and leaned toward me. He was only a few inches away from me, and his breath smelled perfect, like spearmint Listerine mouthwash. I sucked in a breath, ignoring how hard my heart was pounding in my chest. “Now, wouldn’t you like to know?”
I rolled my eyes, trying to diffuse the tension between us. I could feel the warmth coming from him, and his blue eyes were fixated on me. “You have a girlfriend, Ash. Heather Carr, remember?”
“Heather doesn’t hold a candle to you, baby,” he said in a low voice. He came closer, even closer, and my body began to betray me. I leaned toward him and closed my eyes.
Suddenly, my face was wet. I opened my eyes in shock only to see Ash pointing a small squirt gun at my face. He was laughing hard.
I wiped my hand across my face. “I hate you so much, Ash.”
“Lies, all lies,” he said, still laughing. “One day, you’ll admit how much you love me and then maybe you’ll get that kiss that you seem to want so much.”
I stood up, folding my arms across my chest. “Ugh. You wish.”
He placed a hand on his chest, looking forlorn. “Oh, but I do wish, Zoey Valentine.”
I shrieked in frustration, bounding down the stairs, ready to walk all the way to Citi Field if it got me away from him. I ran right into someone with so much force that I bounced back and almost lost my balance. A hand reached out and grabbed me before I reached my imminent doom on the sidewalk.
“Heya, champ.”
“Sorry, Dad,” I said, still fuming.
“Hey, Mr. Valentine!”
I groaned again. “Hey, Ash, how’s it going? Season is going pretty well, isn’t it?” Dad asked, eagerly. My dad loved Ash and spent way too much time talking to him about football and baseball. Ash wasn’t just the captain of the football team, he was the quarterback. He wasn’t just the captain of the baseball team, but the star pitcher. He was everything my dad would have wanted for me, if I didn’t have, you know, boobs and stuff.
“Dad, can we go?” I hissed at him under my breath.