3. strike out

THREE

strike out

Friday, February 19th

At lunch, Isaiah stared off into space, eyes focused outside the cafeteria windows. He heard his friends talking and laughing, but he didn't process a thing they were saying. His mood was plummeting each day he didn't get to play. His hands aching to be inside a glove or wrapped around a bat.

He never realized how much he relied on baseball until then. Everytime he played he forgot about his anxiety, the small conflicts his parents got into every now and then, and just general life stress. And now that he was being kept away from it due to an injury, he couldn't stop fidgeting. Couldn't stop himself from falling into a shitty mood.

He slouched over the table and laid his head on his arms. A moment later a hand touched his back and he jerked in surprise, lifting his head to meet Marcus's concerned frown. "You good?"

Isaiah shrugged and didn't say anything. Marcus patted his back a few times before removing his hand, placing it in his lap. "Sorry for shoving you," he said. "I didn't know you would get hurt. I know you hate not being able to play."

"It's whatever."

"Sure. You feeling any better?"

"Kind of," Isaiah mumbled. "I should be good by Monday."

Marcus grinned. "Good," he said. "I miss you out there."

"I bet," Isaiah joked. Marcus laughed and nudged his shoulder before turning to the rest of the table. As soon as he looked away, Isaiah sighed to himself. He was bored now that he wasn't playing.

Isaiah zoned out again until he registered a hand waving in front of his face. He blinked and looked up, arching an eyebrow at Ashton's dull look. "What?"

"Dude," Ashton chuckled. "Are you okay? You've been out of it since Wednesday."

Isaiah was slowly getting tired of being asked that. "I'm fine."

"Chill." Ashton raised his hands in surrender.  "Anyway, you wanna go to a party tomorrow night? Ryan Cane's house."

He frowned. "Why would I wanna do that?"

"Uh, pretty girls? Alcohol? The good ol'—" Ashton pressed his fingers together and kissed them. "—marijuana."

Isaiah rolled his eyes. "I choose option D: none of the above."

Some random guy from the team, Alex, snorted loudly. Everyone turned to him. Alex shifted under the attention and asked, "What? You gay or something?"

Isaiah scowled. What did that have anything to do with him not wanting to go to a party? "No."

"Dude, you don't even acknowledge a single girl who flirts with you," Alex stated, absolutely serious about his theory that Isaiah was gay. "For all we know, you're a virgin or something."

Isaiah felt his annoyance building up. He briefly imagined socking Alex in his ugly, bulbous nose. "So just because I haven't dated a girl, that means I'm gay? Does that also mean since I've never seen your dick, that you're a girl. Want me to date you?"

Alex's face turned red with humiliation. His shoulders visibly slumped, and Isaiah was calling him dozens of terrible names in his head. Steve was also glaring, and not with annoyance. With honest anger, which was rare. Steve never got mad.

Alex straightened up when he realized something. He leaned over the table with a cocky smirk, a complete one-eighty. "Don't get pissed at me because you're having baseball withdrawals. Coach probably made you sit out because you're shit."

Isaiah stood up from his seat and shrugged his backpack over his shoulder. He was so done with this. "Don't shit on me just because you're not first string." Before he could listen to Alex's petty complaints, he stormed out of the cafeteria, heading straight to the library where he could have some peace and fucking quiet.

He slouched in an armchair, popped in his headphones, and pretended to be doing homework so he wouldn't be kicked out. Isaiah always wondered why people hated on him just because he was good at what he did. Assholes, he thought bitterly. It's not that hard to practice.

Alex had looked up to Isaiah in middle school, had practically worshipped the ground he walked on because he was a good baseball player and a year older. Then high school came and Isaiah was a sophmore on varsity, and Alex was a freshman on the sophmore team. But when he became a sophomore and stayed on JV instead of being allowed on Isaiah's team, he became bitter. He took every chance he could to shit talk him over the smallest things—like the shirt Isaiah wore or the times he made a slip up during practice.

Isaiah easily ignored all of it, but now he was going a bit too far.

He couldn't tell if Alex was being ignorant just to bother Isaiah, or if he was doing it because he really was a homophobic prick. Either way it was dumb.

"Hey."

Isaiah looked up and cracked a smile at Steve, who jerked his chin back. He plopped down in a chair next to him and tugged out his headphones, ignoring Isaiah's scowl as he ruffled his hair. Oh no, Isaiah thought. Steve only did that when he was about to say something serious.

Steve cleared his throat. "Look," he said, "Alex is a brainless, prick of a jock. I know you probably didn't, but don't take his words to heart. And just know... if you ever realized something about yourself, that we wouldn't care. Because you're our best friend."

Isaiah smiled in amusement. "I'm not gay, Steve-o."

"I never said that," Steve retorted. "I just said that if you were, you'd be safe with us. Especially me."

Isaiah raised an eyebrow and Steve sighed. He shook his head at Isaiah's train of thought. "I'm straight," he grumbled. "My cousin—you know Parker, right?—he came out as bisexual last year. He's open about it now, so I'm okay to say this, but I went to Pride with him when he came out for moral support."

"That's cool of you to do," Isaiah replied. Steve smiled awkwardly. He rarely ever had these types of conversations. He wasn't the best with emotions.

"Yeah, I gue—"

"Buddies!" Ashton interrupted loudly before immediately being shushed by the librarian and other working students. His eyes widened in alarm and he apologized in a whisper and scurried over to Steve and Isaiah, Marcus in tow.

"Hi there," Ashton greeted once he'd reached them. "So, this is where you disappeared to?"

"Yep," Isaiah said in faux disappointment. "Now I have to find a new hiding spot."

Marcus snorted. He pushed passed a pouting Ashton and leaned against the back of the chair, looking at Isaiah. "Sorry about Alex," he mumbled. "Ashton told him off and practically dragged me out of there after Steve left. Don't worry—I did my part too." He was grinning proudly. "I flipped him off and gave him a wet willy with my middle finger."

"Gross," Isaiah laughed. "Let's go somewhere else. Y'all are loud."

The group filed out into the hallway and Ashton started rapping his knuckles against the lockers as he passed them. Steve had to switch spots with him to get him to stop being a nuisance. It was quiet for a little while until -

"Okay," Ashton announced, clapping his hands together and coming to a halt in front of the three. "You, Isaiah," he said, pointing his finger towards said-boy, "I'm kidnapping you. You're going to the party. You have no choice."

In any other circumstance, Isaiah would've said no. But he knew he needed to keep himself busy, so why not? He needed to move around, even if it was just walking around a house filled with a bunch of hormonal teenagers.

But wait, that sounded awful. Isaiah hesitated again.

Marcus nudged him in the side. "You don't have to. Ashton's just being his usual, pushy self. It's why he can't get a girlfriend."

"Okay, first of all, fuck you."

Everyone ignored him. Isaiah shrugged. "Fine, I guess. I'll go."

Ashton cheered and fist bumped the air, aimed his fist at Steve for a bump, and was ignored. So he used his other hand to bump himself and hollered again. "You can't back out!" he exclaimed. "Your decision is final."

Isaiah chuckled. "Yes, sir."

___

Highschool parties were weird.

Isaiah knew his peers smoked. He knew they drank. He knew they were absolutely fine with becoming possible addicts, but he didn't quite know how much. Not until Steve parked outside the house the party was being thrown at.

Ashton grinned and slid out of the car, and when Marcus and Steve followed, Isaiah forced himself to get out, too. Ashton didn't even have to drink or smoke to have fun.

"This is uncomfortable," Isaiah stated. Steve nodded in agreement, which Isaiah frowned at. "Then why'd you come?"

Steve pursed his lips. "None of your business."

Isaiah hummed, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Alright, keep your secrets."

"Gladly."

It was sweaty and hot inside the house, and the air was rancid with the smell of skunk. It was loud (obviously, why wouldn't it be?) and filled to the brim with minors slurring their words, stumbling around, and downing shots like they were water. Jesus Christ. He thought this was only what scenes from movies looked like, not real life.

Ashton disappeared as soon as they were inside, off to do embarrassing things so he could use the excuse that he was drunk (which he wasn't). Marcus went to the bathroom and Isaiah was left alone with Steve scrolling through Twitter beside him.

Isaiah peeked at his screen. "You follow Ariana Grande?"

"Fuck off. You listen to country music. At least I have some taste."

"Country music is good," Isaiah defended. "You're just mean."

Steve snorted. "All songs are the same. Singing about one of many things," he teased. "Tractors, girls, beer, boots, or trucks. And they don't have versatility in their voices. Anything is better than country."

"Even death metal?" Isaiah asked.

Steve nodded solemnly. "Even death metal."

Isaiah scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. "You're crazy."

"Country is white people music," Steve replied. "You're not even half white."

Isaiah huffed. He wasn't half white, Steve was right. His dad was black and his mom was Mexican, having immigrated to the United States when she was in her twenties. Her English had finally started getting better last year, but her accent was thick and she forgot words sometimes, which called for quite a few racist assholes in public.

"I don't only listen to country," Isaiah said with a frown. "I listen to everything. Except for jazz—jazz can choke."

"Country can choke," Steve shot back.

Isaiah was about to make a remark, but then he saw a flash of red in his peripheral. He glanced over and recognized the head of blond curls, the slight limp, and the always-present resting bitch face. Next to him was the girl Isaiah had seen before, her lips painted a bold red that matched August's shirt. They looked like a pair of models. A picture perfect couple.

Were they a couple? Isaiah wondered. They were always near each other, always touching in one way or another. But he'd never seen them kiss. Maybe they weren't into PDA? Isaiah didn't know why he was so curious.

"What are you staring at?" Steve inquired, peeking over Isaiah's shoulder. He followed his line of sight, lips forming an 'o' in realization. "As my cousin, Parker, would say," Steve began, nodding his head toward August and the girl, "they are bisexual culture."

Isaiah furrowed his brows in confusion.

Steve sighed. "They're hot," he said bluntly.

"Oh."

Steve snorted. "Dumbass." He slapped a hand on Isaiah's back. "I'm gonna go make sure Ashton is in one piece. You good here?"

Isaiah nodded, and Steve smiled before walking off. Isaiah instinctively reached for his ID around his neck, then dropped his hand when he realized he wasn't at school. Instead he fiddled with one of his rings, twisting it this way and that around his finger. He observed people as they made a fool of themselves, back against the wall, curls becoming frizzy in the muggy warmth of the house.

For an hour he did that, refusing a girl when she offered him weed. Shaking his head at a person who offered him a red cup filled with alcohol. He couldn't be doing any of that—he was an athlete, for fuck's sake. That would ruin his body. At least, the alcohol definitely would. He didn't know much about weed, and he didn't want to know more about it. Shit like that had never piqued his interest. It didn't appeal to him like it did to his peers.

When a complete stranger tried to hit on him, Isaiah excused himself and escaped to the bathroom. It was occupied, so Isaiah made his way up the stairs, each step making the noise from downstairs sound muffled. When he reached the second floor, the music and talking was nothing but a dull hum, which had his shoulders relaxing. He hated loud noises. They were incredibly overwhelming.

There were only a few rooms up there. Three on the right, two on the left. Two of them were small bathrooms, unsurprisingly busy.

Next he tried the bedrooms, because while they were someone's private space, he needed somewhere to sit so he could get away from everything.

The first door he regretted opening, because it was definitely Ryan Cane's room. He was tangled up with a girl in his bed, and Isaiah wasted no time closing the door as quietly as he could. No, thank you. Yuck.

The second one, he didn't hear anything at first. So he pushed it open more and regretted it a little bit more than Ryan Cane's room. Sitting as close as humanly possible were August and that one girl, both of them looking up at the sight and sound of the door opening. Isaiah turned red, sputtering a dozen apologies before shutting the door and hurrying back downstairs.

Right, he thought. Definitely a couple.