My forehead rested against the school bus window. We were on our way to Lake Apopka for the training camp. I drowned the sounds of the chatter on the bus with loud, angry, rock music. I had the pleasure of sitting by myself at the front of the bus, since Domingo had joined us as a chaperone as well. He and dad were sitting together talking about anything but the plans we'd discussed in the week leading up to this day. Those were a secret.

I had a strange cocktail of feelings in my belly. I was thankful to Santi for looking out for me, the way he always did. I felt nauseous that I couldn't fight him off, fight for us. My dream was everything to me. He understood this, but I felt selfish for just straight up accepting that this was a sacrifice I was willing to make. I lay awake for hours the past few nights, debating with myself over if I should just go up to dad and the Principal and whoever and tell them that yes, I could date whomever I wanted because that had nothing to do with my job or my responsibilities. How dare they impose a rule on me that didn't apply to anybody else.

But at the same I couldn't just go and demand that the rules be changed the moment I realized they didn't suit me anymore. I'd been fine with that little clause when I got in on the team, because the thought of wanting to be more than a friend with any of these idiots hadn't even crossed my mind.

One of said idiots threw a shoe at the front of the bus. I saw dad stand up from the corner of my eye to reprimand the poor sucker.

I sighed. I'd never been boy crazy. The whole concept was anathema to me. I had way better things to do with my life than place all my eggs in a guy's basket. This was the first time I had my doubts.

Because it was Santiago. He wasn't just any boy. He was my favorite boy. And I guessed now I'd have to learn that he'd never be mine, in the full sense of the word, that he was just my favorite friend, period. I'd have to learn to be fine with not having him close to me all the time once we went to college. Worse of all, I'd have to learn to be perfectly a-ok when he brought a girl home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. And even attend his wedding with someone else.

I raised my knees up so that I could hug them against my chest and hide my face. I didn't want anybody to see I'd suddenly started crying and that the waterworks were coming with a tide. The thought of looking up at the altar and seeing him look at some woman with the same eyes burning with feeling he'd looked at me with, was hurting way more than I cared to admit. I was going crazy all by myself. He probably wasn't thinking about any of this.

I was only realizing after I lost him how much I'd actually wanted him.

The drive to the cabins took us an hour and a half approximately. We got there with plenty of time to train for the entire day, pass out at night, have a special training game tomorrow Sunday and drive back to school before everybody went home. It was going to be grand. I couldn't wait for it to be over. I was feeling so emotionally drained already that I didn't really want to put an effort on anything other than rolling out of bed. I also hated that the stupid, throbbing ache in my heart didn't let my brain enjoy this amazing chance.

The guys at the back of the bus helped offload all the food and stuff we brought with the funds. All easy stuff that Domingo, dad and I could prepare easily while the boys trained. Hot dogs, burgers and the like. I wished we'd brought giant pints of ice cream just for myself. Alas.

"Are you okay, honey bunny?" dad asked once I descended the bus. "You look kinda tired already, and we haven't even started."

I wiped my face and came up with a quick excuse. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just dozed off for a bit, I'll perk up soon."

I didn't.

After the initial madness of everybody choosing their cabin and bunk mates, we were able to begin practice. Pretty much the entire morning was drills. The best part was walking through the lines of guys running on their spots or doing jumping jacks and just bask in their suffering. It relieved mine a tad, until I walked in front of Santiago. For the past week we'd come to a silent but mutual agreement of not really making eye contact. We had lunch together with the guys and shared the same spaces we did as before, but there was no real interaction.

That was the cherry on top of the cocktail of emotions. I hated that we couldn't be our normal selves. It was all weird now.

I kept walking and giving them directions until the time for making lunch approached. Since dad had to be mindful of the guys, so they wouldn't cheat on their drills, it was mostly Domingo and I doing the cooking. And that was awkward as hell. I wanted to ask him why his son was such a lovable jerk. Emphasis on the lovable part.

I got the honor of grilling the hot dogs and guessed that was as far as the 21st century feminism was going to get me with this crowd. I sighed.

"What's up, Peyton?" Domingo asked me.

I glanced up from poking sausages with the tongs and caught his eyes, the same vivid green as his younger son's. Seb's had been more of a hazel, closer to Barbara's brown eyes. The good natured twinkle he'd had had been the same as his dad's was showing me. I didn't know exactly where Santi's got the deep moodiness in his own peepers; it had always been there even before the tragedy.

I looked back down at the dogs. "Nothing much, why do you ask?"

"I just thought this would be the kind of thing that would have you bouncing on your feet." He sought my attention again but I wouldn't give it to him. "But instead you look all sorts of gloomy there. Kind of like mijo these days."

I cringed. And he caught it. His eyebrows went up.

I scrambled to think of something. "Well, I don't know where he gets it unless he's in his time of the month, too."

In my mind I thanked Ellen for having bailed me out of homecoming with the same excuse.

The poor man blanched. "Jesus, Barbara spits fire when she's on that time."

I liked that he said Jesus the Spanish way, Heh-Sooz. It was one of those few things that he and Barbara slipped into their otherwise flawless English, a reminder of their past. I fervently hoped that I wouldn't become a part of their past.

"Yeah, well. Let's just say it puts a damper on all the fun." And I hoped it also explained why my face looked so puffy, except that was because of all the crying. I decided to change the topic. "Are we all set for the game tomorrow?"

He grinned and I begun passing him the first few sausages that were ready. He put them in the buns and added squirts of ketchup, mustard and mayo. I asked for only mustard and mayo.

"Oh, yes," he said. "Our buddies will be here at 10am sharp. They haven't played in a while, so they're super excited."

That was going to be fun, even I had to admit. I couldn't wait to see the reactions from the guys.

"What about the practice game in the afternoon?" I was more interested on this one, though. We had 20 guys on the team, but only 17 managed to come. One of the seniors had had a college trip scheduled for this weekend, and two sophomores were grounded by their parents after a prank gone wrong. So we were short one person to have two full teams. And I'd asked to be that person.

He gave me a thumbs up and a completely Sebastian smile. Dimple only on one cheek and all. "I think I convinced your dad."

The guys started trickling in at the same time I jumped in excitement. Finally, something to look forward to!

I was a little amused that they already looked like zombies and struggled to even grab a hold of a hot dog. I was so busy serving food that I failed to avoid Santi once he reached the front of the line. He stood in front of me, cap turned backward and sweating like he'd been dosed with a hose instead. His uniform stuck to his body in areas, and was damp and stained with grass and sand. He wiped sweat off of his forehead and his eyes widened when he saw me.

He looked delicious. I swallowed and I reminded myself that I was in permanent abstinence when it came to him.

"Here you go," I said, feigning indifference. That act didn't last long, because our hands brushed as he made a grab for the food and I felt the shock of electricity to the tips of my hair. I looked at his dad and announced I was taking a break.

I made a dash for the bathroom, not far at all from the area with the grills. I locked myself in the women's bathroom and wrung my hands. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror I nearly died. I was sweaty, too, but red as if I'd forgot to put on sunblock. I stopped and thought about it.

I fucking forgot to put on sunblock. I'd been out in the sun cooking myself to a crispy shrimp pink for about two hours.

I snorted a laugh. No wonder he'd looked so shocked when he saw me. I washed my face and felt that certain areas already stung. My arms fared better but not by much. I had to go into my and dad's cabin and slather on a thick layer.

I came out of the bathroom and there he was. Santiago, I meant. Not my dad.

He was munching on his dog and looking at me like I was some sort of lost puppy. With his free hand he gave me a tub of sunblock. SPF 100, which was a marketing myth because it only worked until 50. But this kind of gesture was why I loved him and why this whole thing was a mess.

I grabbed it from him with an upturned nose. "Thank you, but I still hate you."

He nodded. "Yeah, I hate me, too."

I was not expecting that. It caught me off guard to the point that he left me standing there before I was even able to react. I just looked at his retreating back, wide and strong, and wondered if I was imagining a certain drop to it. But I shook my head and went back in, applying so much lotion I almost looked ghost white again.

We took a break after lunch for everybody to get some rest. I excused myself and went into my cabin to talk with Ellen. She was the only one who understood what was going on with me right now. I didn't know what I'd done to deserve her as a friend, but I was eternally thankful to her that she was perfectly okay with consoling me, even though all she probably wanted to do was gush about how her second time with Chris had been so much better. I did pay her back a little by covering with her mom that she was sleeping over at my place yesterday as we studied for an exam. I hoped that bought me enough karma coins to just call her at random and cry in her ear.

In the middle of our conversation there was a knock on the door, and I wondered if it was Santi. But it was just my dad.

"Peyton, are you there? I've been looking for you everwhere."

I wiped my face and tried to work my voice into a semblance of normality. "Yeah, I'm here. What's up?"

There was a pause, as though he hesitated. "Aren't you going to come and play?"

I might have squeaked like a mouse. "I'm coming!" Then I focused on Ellen again. "I love you but I love playing ball more, I gotta go."

She laughed. "Crushing, but I appreciate your honesty. Go and kick ass!"

We hung up and I tossed my phone on the bed before running out of the cabin. I probably left skid marks in front of my duffel where I stopped to get my glove.

"Okay, which team am I on?" I asked dad and Domingo. They were each going to coach a team for this game. Domingo pointed at himself and even though I plastered a grin on my face I was kind of hesitant joining his team if Santi was on it. I didn't want to have to sit close to him during offense innings. And then I realized that he was with my dad and sighed in relief.

And then I realized he was with my dad and panicked.

I looked at Domingo with crazed eyes. "Why did you give Santi to my dad?"

He tried to hold back a smile. "Look at it this way, our team has you and you're just as good as him."

"You don't need to flatter me, you know."

He laughed out right. "Okay, fair point. But we kept Jared, just to even the odds a bit."

I was grumpy, but I accepted that that evened out the teams sufficiently.

This was the first time Santi and I were going to play ball together since the pee wees, and I was bursting at the seams in excitement, but for the first time I experienced the terror of playing against a Miranda. It felt like I was a tiny mouse hoping to break through a wall. Was this the feeling our opponents got when he went out on the field?

Domingo's team was on defense the first inning. I stood on first base, my favorite position. I loved it because it saw a lot of action. I had the terrible thought that if Santi hit a homer right away, he'd just breeze by me at a leisure pace. It would be relatively painless. But his turn at bat didn't come the first inning. I caught a pop fly from the third batter, before Santi's turn, and got the third out.

"Good job on keeping up," McCann told me on our way to the bench. I'd have thought that was genuine if it came from, I don't know, Anthony, but he was merrily chatting away with Santi on the other team and this was McCann. He was a bit of a Draco Malfoy type piece of shit.

"If you're going to insult me don't weasel out of it and do it directly."

His eyebrows shot up. "No, actually I was being for real."

Domingo clapped and it distracted me from one of the weirdest interactions I'd ever had. McCann reminded me of Jessica all of a sudden, and I wondered if they'd got together and decided to share their happiness with lesser people or something.

"Okay, team," the elder Miranda said. "Here's the batting lineup."

I ended up third, and my turn at bat came too quickly. I borrowed a hard hat, grabbed an aluminum bat and stepped onto the plate. Santiago didn't acknowledge me from the catcher's position, and that was fine. I swung my bat up. This was fine. Anthony was doing the pitching and I thought in general I stood a chance at getting a hit at least.

I missed the first ball, but I caught myself at the start of the swing and got a ball instead of a strike. I ran my tongue across my lips as Santi stood up and threw the ball back.

"You're pulling your hips in again," he whispered with a voice so deep and rich it made me feel like I was tasting caramel. I may have closed my eyes in pure bliss for a second.

"Shut up," I managed to say, but I tried to pull my hips out and batted a decent hit. I ran to first with all my might. When I said decent I meant to my team; the actual hit had been so shitty it made it hard to catch and I managed to get all the way to first. Our fourth batter came in and got the third out. I dragged my feet to our bench because I'd wanted to keep playing. Running around the diamond. See if I managed to make my way back to Santi, run to him.

I grabbed my glove and went back to first. It was his turn to run to me, as a matter of fact.

He stepped on the plate and swung twice. I was sure I was imagining him looking at me, because there was no way to tell at this distance anyway. I focused on McCann's first pitch, which I knew Santi would just observe as he always did.

He broke his own jinx and swung.

I was not ready for that and startled when I found the ball coming my way. I ran to it and tried to catch it. The motherfucker bounced off the tip of my glove but it flew straight back up as Santi came barreling down towards me. That second felt like I had no breath, no heartbeat. It was just me, my entire being, and the white ball. I caught it with my bare hand and ran to my base. I'd wasted so much time catching the ball that all I could do was hope I could cross the distance to base with the ball before Santi touched it.

And so I ran. And we collided.