With the Duvall game fast approaching, I'm trying to balance my game prep while handling both my popularity and whatever I have with Abigail. Otto's feelings for her have started to change things. A lot. After dissing Lily for a few days, I need to make it up to her badly. That date I promised her so much has been lingering inside my mind. Haven't really concentrated on setting anything up, so distracted by the game and the dare. Heading towards the hallway near the Junior section, I find my boy Jake rummaging through his locker, searching for something he probably lost. He kind of does.

I can recall last year, Cindy from band club gave him a customized harmonica for his birthday. I think it was meant to be a sign for them to date, but I don't think Jake ever found the time. He got caught up with soccer club and other stuff he had to do with his grandfather; he never found time to commit to a date with Cindy. And to top it all off, he lost the harmonica. He sweated days trying to search for that small metal-like instrument. Cindy really did a good job, customizing it with Jake's initials, "JMH." M for Mikel. He hates me calling him Mikel. His grandpa is the only one who calls him Mikel Jr., since Mikel is his grandfather's first name. Till this day, the harmonica hasn't been found, and he hasn't yet reached back to Cindy for that much-anticipated date.

"Hey, man," I say, leaning against the locker next to his. "I need your advice."

Jake raises an eyebrow. "With what?"

"Best way to set up a really good apology date for Lily," I reply and then soften my voice. "And maybe also...with Otto."

Jake laughs. "Otto? Why does he need an apology date?"

I sigh. "You don't understand, bro, the apology date is for me and Lily. I need another, separate, normal date for Otto and you know who."

"I know who...who?"

"Abigail!" I try not to yell. "I've been thinking about pairing them together. The more time she spends with him, the less I have to worry, which frees me up for Lily." And it's for her own good, right?

Jake looks skeptical. "Isn't that...going against the spirit of the dare? You're supposed to befriend her."

"I am befriending her," I argue, trying to sound convincing even to myself. "Just...facilitating other friendships too. It's for her own good, right? And come on, Jake, have you seen the way Otto looks at her? It's the same kind of lovesick puppy gaze I had for Lily back in biology. Remember? I was practically tripping over myself just to be near her."

"I remember, you never stopped quirking about it. Oh, Lily this, Lily that."

I look at him with a sly sarcastic glare.

Jake snickers. "From Bayman King contender to offbeat matchmaker. Nice."

"I'm serious, Jake. This could work. If I set them up, everyone wins."

"Is this really winning?" Jake asks bluntly but eventually shrugs. "Alright, if you're so sure. How are you gonna do it?"

"I need your help for that. Give me some good recommendations," I say confidently. "We need to make it something nice. You know, romantic."

"We?" He looks flummoxed.

"Duh, I told you, I need your advice, bro."

He wants to say something snooty yet just laughs it off. After digging through his locker another time, he pauses and turns back to me. "Good luck, Romeo."

Taking that as a compliment, I walk off, not before giving him a nice parting shot of mine. "Good luck finding that harmonica."

"What?! Hey!" He reacts a bit stunned.

I turn back to see his flustered stare. I smirk and give him an off-shoot salute.

***

It's Friday, game day. While thinking about the game in eight hours, I try to be that "perfect" friend for Abigail now. I escort her to class, help her with her books, and be a gentleman. Something I have always been to Lily so many times but not recently. Even though I bypass some laughter and awkward views from those pesky classmates and other students, I see Otto, showing that intense, unwavering gaze at her, but feeling invisible. He tries to say something to Abigail, yet she just passes him by, not even glancing back at him with her questionable glances. Noticing Otto's head down, he slumps back while a few classmates glance at him. If this is my best chance to make it up to Lily and allow Abigail to open herself to more friends, I have to make this work.

Having a free period and waving good luck to Abigail as she heads into her Algebra class, I make a beeline to the computer lab on the other side of the floor, knowing Otto would be there. That's his thing. Computers and chess are his hobbies. We may not be close friends, but I have seen him so many times in both clubs, doing what he adores so much. Like me and baseball. Once I make it into the lab, observing the six rows of Mac computers and the olive green chairs and slender long tables, my eyes don't disappoint. Otto is definitely here, sitting in the third row, adjusting the thick tape on his eyeglasses and laughing awkwardly, probably at something he saw on his screen. I approach him timorously, trying not to cringe.

"Hey, Otto," I say, grabbing a chair and turning it around, smoothly sitting next to him.

He looks up, surprised. "Hey, Slater...What's up?"

"I've seen how you look at Abigail," I say bluntly. "I think you like her."

Otto's face turns bright red quickly. "I, uh, I mean, she's...interesting."

I lean in, lowering my voice. "I want to help you set up a date with her. You make her fall for you, and she can focus on you instead of me."

Otto adjusts his glasses nervously, his gaze flicking between me and the computer screen. "Why are you doing this?"

"I need her to be happy and occupied," I explain. "And I can make sure you get exclusive access to the junior parties. Maybe even see if you can be Junior Prom Prince."

Otto's eyes widen. "Prom Prince?!"

"Yeah, man!" I say, patting his back with a slight whack. "And next year, when I'm Bayman King, I'll make sure you get unique perks. Perks only a prince can get."

He hesitantly tries not to look at me, his gaze so focused on the computer.

"So, what do you say? You're in?" I extend my hand.

Otto ponders for a moment. "Are you sure you want to help me date Abigail?"

"Why do you think I'm here?" I try to bait him in, needing him to do this.

He stays silent for a minute. Yet not for long, he soon grabs hold of my hand and shakes it. "Okay, I'm in."

While he smiles, he gives off that weird laugh I have heard him many times. I hesitantly smirk back, praying this doesn't fall flat on my face.

***

The sun's a brutal furnace beating down on the mound as we head into the bottom of the eighth. We're clinging to a 2-0 lead against Duvall, a scrappy team that never quits. My arm feels like it's been through a meat grinder, each fastball a little heavier than the last. Coach Thompson's giving me these pointed looks from the dugout, probably wondering how much gas I've got left in the tank. I try to ignore him, focus on the batter digging in. It's their cleanup hitter, a big dude named Stewart, who's already taken me deep once today. I go with a slider low and away, hoping he chases. He doesn't. Ball one. My glove feels slick with sweat. I wipe my forehead on my sleeve, the grit sticking to my skin.

Next pitch, a fastball, trying to sneak it inside. He's quick, though, and fouls it off, the sharp crack of the bat echoing across the field. The tension's thick enough to choke on. I can feel Liam shifting behind me at shortstop, Evan pacing a little in center field. They know this is crunch time. I take a deep breath, try to find my rhythm. Another slider, this one a little higher. Stewart swings, connects, and for a heart-stopping second, I think it's gone. But it's a lazy fly ball to center, and Evan camps under it, squeezing it in his glove for the first out. A wave of relief washes over me, brief as a summer breeze. Two more outs. But Duvall's not going down easy.

The next batter works a walk, fouling off a couple of tough pitches, and suddenly there's a runner, Rotts, on first with their two-hole hitter coming up. My jaw clenches. This game feels like it's been going on for days. I get him to pop out to second, thankfully, but the tying run is still on base as their eight-hole hitter steps into the box. He's a pesky one, fouling off pitch after pitch, making me work for every out. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I get him to ground out to third.

End of the eighth. Still 2-0, but man, it feels like we just survived a small war.

The top of the ninth feels like a blur. My legs are heavy as I step into the batter's box. I'm not a great hitter, never have been. My job is on the mound. But with a two-run lead, any insurance run would be huge. Their pitcher, Newman, looks just as tired as I feel, his fastball losing some of its zip. I manage to foul off a couple of pitches before grounding out weakly to short. Liam's up next. He's usually a solid hitter, but he goes down swinging on three pitches. Two outs, nobody on. Evan steps in, our best hitter. There's a collective holding of breath from our dugout. If he can get on, maybe steal a base, it could give us that crucial extra run. The count goes to 2-2.

The next pitch is a curveball that dips low, and Evan swings and misses. Strike three. We head back out to the field, still up by two, but the momentum feels like it could shift with one swing. A few more of our best batters ready to swing, but Newman has been tough on all of us.

Hours after finishing the second game against Duvall—though it feels more like days—I'm back on the mound for the bottom of the ninth. My arm screams with every throw. The first batter, Newman, grounds out to first, a routine play that feels anything but routine right now. One out. The next guy, Rotts, hits a weak dribbler back to me, and I field it cleanly, tossing it to first for the second out. Two outs. One more. Just one more. But Duvall's not done. Their three-hole hitter, the one who can really swing it, Stewart, again steps up to the plate. The crowd is on its feet, a low hum of anticipation and nerves. I can hear Dad and Ethan screaming their lungs out, Mom ever cautious and nervous, Lily and Jake still hanging on, cheering me on rigorously. My heart is hammering against my ribs. I try to focus, try to remember everything Coach Thompson has drilled into us about closing out games.

My first pitch is a fastball, high and tight. Ball one. The next is a slider that catches the outside corner for a strike. 1-1. I go back to the fastball, trying to get ahead in the count. He swings, and the crack of the bat is sharp and loud. My stomach drops. The ball is a beauty, a line drive heading towards deep left-center field. Liam, at shortstop, and Evan, charging in from center, are sprinting, a desperate race against the sinking baseball. For a terrifying moment, it looks like it's going to drop, giving Duvall a chance to tie it up at third base with their cleanup hitter coming up. But Liam, with an incredible burst of speed, stretches out, his glove reaching, reaching...and the ball smacks into the leather just before it lands over the outfield grass. The collective exhale from our dugout is almost as loud as the crack of the bat had been. Three outs. Game over.

We won! 2-1.

I glance quickly to spot my parents, Ethan, Jake, Lily, and all my favorites up in the bleachers, jumping up and hugging each other. Soon I notice Otto sitting at the far top right bench and then nearly alone at the bottom, a fleeting glimpse of Abigail, which surprises me.

As I congratulate the team and Coach Thompson gives me some encouraging words, I soon head to the locker room. Getting redressed in my street clothes and reminding the guys I will see them at Bennie's for our celebratory dinner, I scan the dispersing crowd and see Otto, but no sign of Abigail. I swear I saw her there right when the game ended.

I text Otto.

She was by the bottom bleachers' right end.

He replies.

She's gone.

I call out Abigail's name a couple of times, but Lily takes notice and feels a bit suspicious. She comes over, trying to snap at me, reminding me she's my girl.

"Why are you looking for Abigail?" She asks, her tone sharp.

"There's nothing happening," I say quickly, hoping Lily doesn't picture something that is obviously not true, that I have any intimate feelings for Abigail. "I thought I saw her. That's all."

Lily narrows her eyes. "You've been spending a lot of time with Kooky Abbie. People are talking."

"Well, they can talk all they want. There's nothing between us."

"You're sure?" Lily mumbles, almost not wanting to believe me.

A wave of panic washes over me. "It's not what you think, Lil. We're just friends. She's really into astronomy, and I thought it would be interesting to learn more about it. That's it. Curiosity in the stars."

She narrows her eyes, clearly not convinced. "Just friends, huh? Well, it feels like you're ignoring me. You've been completely ignoring me."

"Babe, I'm sorry," Getting close to her, rubbing her arms gently. "I didn't mean to. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"You promised me that date a week ago after the first game. And you haven't planned it yet." She sighs, her expression softening slightly. "I miss you, Slater. Don't let this...hobby of yours come between us."

Hobby? My internal reaction is a mix of annoyance and guilt.

"I won't," I say, kissing her soft lips, giving her assurance that everything is going to be okay between us. "How about this? You want planning? How about Gigo's? That pizzeria up north, just you and me. It's time we go on that much-needed date."

She doesn't respond with words; she only kisses me back and softly snuggles right into my arms. Feeling her warmth, I have all the confidence that our relationship will remain strong. But out of the blue, I finally spot Abigail a half-mile away, standing alone outside the school grounds, staring up at the sky, staring at a strange bright dot in the darkness. Even though giving calm to my girlfriend makes me...me.

Somehow, when I see Abigail, her bewilderment intrigues me more.