Bee wrote down in her new planner SEA DOGS FIRST DAY under Saturday. As in, 5 days away. As in, this upcoming weekend, when she would be on Hadlock Field, taking it all in, living her dream.

The only issue? Oakland would be there, and he wasn't competing against her, no, he was competing with her. Meaning they were working together.

Bee wasn't sure that was possible.

She didn't want to focus on that. Instead, she wanted to focus on the task at hand: hand stitching her newest jersey, since Oakland stole hers. It wasn't for games, but she wanted to wear a Bee jersey on Saturday, and she was determined to make it fabulous.

After practice, Bee had begged her mom to take her to the closest Olympia Sports, where she picked out a plain jersey. She had wanted to pick out all new gear, but she refrained. Her jersey alone cost her most of the money she had saved from last year's summer job.

Now, she sat at her desk, hand stitching. She had lovely yellow embroidery floss and she was currently making a very large 24 on the back.

She liked to hand stitch things. She had made sunflowers on her white converse one year in middle school, and she had become infatuated every since. Her craft drawers were overflowing with embroidery floss of every color.

Her mom knocked on her door and poked her head in. "Are you hungry?"

Bee looked up from her jersey, seeing the tired look in her mom's eyes. It said I'm dealing with a lot right now, but I'm trying to be a good mom, since your dad sucks and we both know it.

Bee shook her head. "Nah, I'm good mom. If I get hungry, I can always run to McDonald's down the street."

Her mom usually would have said no, but she was so tired and worn, she just nodded and smiled. "I love you, you know that?"

Bee's heart warmed, but her chest tightened. Tightened because she knew what her mom was saying with those three words, and it was much more than parent love. It was I'm sorry. It was I know your father is an asshole. It was you're so close to getting out of here where you'll be free.

When her mom shut the door, Bee's chest felt tight and she felt the tears. The tears she seemed to always feel now. Instead, she pushed her feelings away with her floss, stitching her number over and over until it was big and it was thick.

After her number, Bee picked out another color, this time red. She wrote her name above the numbers. Not Beatrice, but Bee. Beatrice was the name her father gave her, not her mother. Her father's mom was named Beatrice, and in the delivery room, he had threatened Bee's mom. He had told his wife that if she didn't name their daughter Beatrice, he would beat the shit out of her. He would steal Bee away.

Her mother never called her Beatrice. Not even when she was mad. When she was mad, she said Bee Williams, and it was in that parent tone. But, not once, did she call her Beatrice. No one called her that, except teachers on the first day of school and apparently Oakland, who didn't know any better.

Her father only called her Beatrice. Not Bee, never Bee, never anything but Beatrice. Her father would say Beatrice, get down here right now and Beatrice, get your father another beer. Or, Beatrice, you aren't allowed to leave this house, you got it? and If I catch you with a boy Beatrice, it'll be over for you.

She swallowed hard and focused on stitching her name. Bee.

After, she pulled the jersey away, right as she got a text message. It flashed on her screen, and she took it in, immediately feeling her mood sour. Bumble Bee, Bumble Bee, what do I see? I see a girl who's afraid of me.

She put the jersey down and grabbed her phone. Asshole, Asshole, what do I see? I see a pathetic boy with insecurities.

For a moment, there wasn't a response. For a moment, there wasn't anything but the words asshole and pathetic and insecure.

She waited, and when waiting got to be too much, she went back to stitching. She started putting yellow and white daisies when her phone chimed again. Her heart lodged itself in her throat for a moment as she put down her needle and looked.

Prove that you're not afraid of me by coming out 2nite.

She didn't even want to think about what that meant.

Can't. I'm in my pajamas. Srry.

She didn't pick up her needle, she waited for an answer. Obviously, she wasn't going out to see him. If she was going anywhere, it was to the drive-thru at McDonalds, where no one could see her fuzzy pink pajama bottoms.

Coward he sent back. Then, Tell me ur hungry and we can grab drive-thru dinner.

She held the phone in her hand and she remembered his words, how he was going to ruin her. How he was going to dump her to the curb. How he was going to make her life a living hell, just because she was a girl and she was on his baseball team.

Why? U hate me. Remember last Friday? When u told me u would ruin me? This a part of that plan?

She slammed her phone down with more force than necessary, angry now. She wasn't going to fall for his tricks. He had an agenda, and it was to make her quit the team. She wondered though if that changed, now that they were going to the Sea Dogs on the weekends, where they were bound together as a team.

No. This is a part of the plan to get my mind off of my parents expectations for my future. They want me to take over their stupid shop. How sick is that? Keep me from going to college so I can make baseball bats?

She wasn't expecting that answer. She stared at her phone, rereading the text, wondering why he would even tell her that. Why he was confiding in her in the first place. This felt like a private conversation between friends, not enemies.

Would they do it? Force u to stay behind in Maine?

Force? No. guilt me into it? Hell yes

For a sick twisted moment, she thought about telling him about her dad, but she didn't. Couldn't. She didn't trust him not to spin that information on her when she was least expecting it. She didn't trust him not to burn her with it.

This though, this was bait. It had to be. She couldn't figure out why else Oakland Stone would be telling her this private information about his life if he wasn't trying to bait her into going out, or into telling her own secrets.

Were they guilting u 2nite?

The three dots flashed, then disappeared, then flashed again. Finally he wrote, they do evry nite. Usually grueller can hang & take my mind off it. He's too busy 2nite.

What about Fauna?

The response was instant. Fuck no. Fauna doesn't care about my home troubles

So was hers. And u think I do?

I'd like to think ur someone who would

She felt the hesitation to respond. She flushed at the thought that he wanted to trust his secrets with her, but she knew this wasn't real. This was fake, and this was to make her fall in love with him so he could ruin her.

Ur mistaken, Oakland. I don't care. Find someone else to mindfuck with.

She waited for the response, but it never came. After a dozen or so minutes, she finally gave up waiting, turning back to her jersey, but suddenly she didn't want to finish it. Suddenly, she felt like curling up in bed and letting her thoughts of Oakland and his life consume her.

* * *

The next morning she rushed to the student council room. Tucked under her arm was the inspiration board she had made over the weekend for prom. She had meant to turn it in on Monday, but there were finishing touches she wanted to add that she finally put on this morning.

It was a collage of pictures from the internet - she had popcorn balloon archways, creative booths, a circus tent theme. It was all meshed together perfectly on her poster board. She even added a little flair, putting on carnival tickets and photobooth pictures and a few ticket bracelets you get at the county fair.

Bee was proud of it, and she stashed it behind the door, facing backwards, so no one would really see it until she could talk about it during third period. Despite not being excited for prom, she was finding that she couldn't wait to start really planning it.

After dropping that off, she headed to find her friends. She was so consumed by the ideas of prom that she wasn't necessarily paying attention to where she was walking until she was walking by Oakland's lockers.

I must want to punish myself, she thought, staring at him, watching him push his books into his locker. He wasn't looking at her, wasn't talking to anyone, was just by himself. She thought about his texts last night, about how he didn't want to be stuck working for his family's business, and her throat caught.

There was more to Oakland Stone than she thought.

"Look what we made you!" It was John's voice and Larkin's arm across her shoulders. She turned around, not wanting to make eye contact with Oakland, and she let out a loud gasp. There, in John's hands, was a white jean jacket. However, that wasn't what was remarkable about the jacket - the back was hand painted.

John turned it around, and Bee felt herself tearing up. In the middle, John had painted a large bee. Above the bee was a border of flowers on a vine. Underneath the bee were more flowers, this time sprouting from the ground, trailing up the edges and across the back. It was absolutely gorgeous. On the right sleeve was her name, and underneath it was her number: 24.

She wrapped her arms around John. "Stop! This is so cute. John!" She pulled back, grinning. She shrugged the jacket on, pulling on the lapels, grinning.

"Hey, not just John! We all helped!" Larkin pretended to feel hurt, putting a hand over his chest. "How dare you assume it was just John."

She wrapped her arms around Larkin. "Thanks Lark. And Stephen and Benji. Why did you guys do this?"

Benji ruffled her hair. "You need something to wear Saturday to let everyone know who you are."

She laughed, because she had the same thought last night. "I made myself a jersey for Saturday, too. Great minds think alike." Then, she hugged them all again, so grateful, and feeling absolutely horrible that she wasn't doing anything for them in return.

Well, that was going to change. She was sure of it.

"What is this, an impromptu baseball practice?" It was Oakland's voice, and it sounded nasty, like he was angry they were in the hallway. "I'm hurt I wasn't invited."

Bee turned towards him, her attitude sinking. She didn't want him to join their conversation, and she sure as hell didn't want him to see her amazing new jacket. She could practically hear his words now: wow that's ugly.

"This isn't a meeting. We're all just friends." John said this like he thought Oakland may have been dumb.

Oakland's eyes landed on the jacket. "Didn't know you painted. Dude, you're talented."

John rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing Bee with apologetic eyes. "Yeah, I guess I just really like it."

Stephen slapped John on the back. "This dude's going to art school. That's how much he likes it."

Bee knew this about John already. He was going to RISD in the fall, and Bee was incredibly proud that John was chasing his dreams and excelling at them. Most people knew John was super talented; is whole family was good at making art. Bee had never seen so much talent in one household.

"That jacket is crazy good." Oakland's hand was on Bee's shoulder, turning her, like he was comfortable with her enough to do so. Like they were friends. Just the touch of his hand on her shoulder made her heart skip a beat in her chest, and she felt suddenly light headed.

I am so screwed.

She felt his fingers trail across the back of her jacket, pressing hard enough to that she could feel his fingers against her spine, and she shuddered at the feeling. She could feel his body heat spilling onto her, and she could smell his aftershave. She felt dizzy all of a sudden.

"Well, what can I say, I'd do anything for Bee." John's voice was hard, a clear warning. Oakland seemed to understand what John was saying with his tone of voice because he squeezed her shoulder and leaned to her ear.

"You little coward," he whispered in a voice that screamed sensual. It made the hair of the back of her neck stand up, and she felt the goosebumps race down her arms. The heat of his breath on her neck and her feel weak in the knees.

He pulled away, standing beside Larkin, putting his hands in his pockets. "She's lucky to have such great friends," he said to them. Then, he looked at Bee with a darkness in his eyes that didn't scream lucky.

Benji shrugged. "You could have great friends too if you weren't an asshole."

Always the truthful one, Bee laughed to herself. Benji grabbed Stephen's hand and looked Oakland straight in the eyes, one of his brows raised. "Here's a tip. You want to get on our good side? Want to be our friend? Make it right with Bee." Then, Benji pulled Stephen with him to class, not looking back at the group.

John and Larkin looked at Bee, then Oakland. "Bee, we'll see you tonight at practice." They nodded in response to Oakland, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway. Of course, others walked by or stopped at their lockers, but it was obvious: they were alone.

Bee fidgeted, then blew out a sigh. "I guess I'll see you later." She turned to go, but Oakland reached for her arm, stopping her. "Wait, I have something for you."

He dug in his bag and pulled out her planner. The same one she had been crying about yesterday. Her fingers brushed the cover, but she pulled her hand away. She had no doubt he'd already read it. "I don't need it anymore."

Oakland's face called bullshit. "Yesterday you were crying for it."

She shrugged. "My friends made me a new one that is way more important to me than that one."

He opened his mouth then closed it, clearly thrown. He decided last minute to shove it into her arms. "It's yours. Lucky lucky that you have friends that care."

She grabbed her old planner, elated she had it again, but she was being honest when she said she didn't need it anymore. "It's called being a nice person. You could take some tips." Then, before she could stop herself, she turned on her heel and left him there, standing alone in the hallway. She tightened her hold on her old planner, the grip almost painful, and she wished again that Oakland Stone had never moved to her school.