Home Run Heart Read online

  HOME RUN HEART

  AMBER GARZA

  Cover: Kris Pittman, Breakaway Designs

  Copyright © 2018 Amber Garza

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  For information: ambergarza.com

  Table of Contents:

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Abby

  Cameron

  Abby

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Abby

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Abby

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Abby

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Abby

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Abby

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Abby

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Abby

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Cameron

  Lennon

  Author Note

  About the Author

  To my family, for always being my home

  Lennon

  Things I’m grateful for today:

  A hot shower (even though it’s in the girls’ locker room at my high school, and it’s so early it’s still dark outside).

  Breakfast.

  For now, at least, I think Mom and I are safe.

  Cameron

  There are two reasons math tutoring before school sucks:

  I’m not a morning person.

  I’m not a fan of math.

  This morning it sucks even more because I left my math book and homework in my baseball locker after practice last night. I wish I could just cancel and go back to bed, but Coach would kill me. He’s been up my butt about my grades. Dad too. I can’t screw this up. Not my senior year. My future is riding on this season. I hate math, but I love baseball. And if I don’t get my grades up, I can’t keep playing.

  It’s not the first time I’ve left my math stuff in my locker. The last time my tutor gave me crap for it. Made it clear I had to bring it to our sessions. But how? No one will be at the school this early.

  Well, not no one. The janitor might be there. Eh, it’s worth a try.

  Anxious, I head toward the school. It’s cold and slightly dark when I arrive. Spotting a car in the lot, I sigh with relief. Thank god. Hurrying onto the campus, I jog around the outer perimeter since the hallways are locked. I peek in several windows, but don’t see anyone. Then I hear the jangle of keys, the buzzing of wheels on the asphalt. I follow the sound. A short, middle-aged woman walks out of Mr. Norte’s classroom.

  “Hey,” I call out, startling her.

  Eyes wide, she takes a step back.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” With shame, I realize I don’t know her name. I’ve seen her a million times, but I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to her. Jutting out my hand, I say, “I’m Cameron.”

  Furrowing her brows, she studies my hand while taking it in hers. “Patrice.”

  “Patrice,” I repeat. “I’m on the baseball team, and I left something in the locker room. Think you could let me in?” She appears freaked out, so I add, “It’ll only take a minute.”

  She pauses momentarily, glancing around nervously.

  I flash her my most angelic expression. The one that always works on my mom. “Please?”

  “Oh, all right,” she answers with reluctance.

  Relief floods me. “Thanks.”

  “C’mon,” she says gruffly, leading the way.

  After she unlocks the door, I thank her and slip inside. Hurrying toward my locker, I grab my stuff quickly. I don’t have much time to get to the coffee shop to meet Jack. When my parents first told me they’d hired a tutor for me, I pictured a hot college girl. But I was wrong. Not about the college part. About the girl part. And the hot part. Jack is a math geek.

  I walk out of the locker room and smack into a girl. She teeters backward, dropping her duffle bag. Biting her lip, the girl peers up at me awkwardly. Her bright hazel eyes sparkle under the sun that’s just starting to emerge in the sky. Her skin is pale, almost translucent. Smooth like cream. That’s when I recognize her. She’s new, and she’s in one of my classes. History, I think. And she has a weird name. Like the same as a singer from a long time ago. Elvis? Elton? No. That’s not it. Ahh, I know.

  “Lennon, right?” I remember it was so weird how she had such a unique first name, but a regular last name. Smith, I think.

  Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She tucks a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “Yeah.”

  Why is her hair wet? And why is she here? I glance around, but there’s no sign of anyone else. “I’m Cameron.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she says, then clamps her mouth shut, her cheeks reddening.

  My lips tug at the corners. She already knew who I was.

  Hands trembling slightly, she reaches up to finger her wet hair. Silence spins around us, deepening my curiosity. Maybe she came from the pool. But where are the others? “You on swim team or something?”

  She blinks. Licks her lips. Shakes her head.

  Okay. Not the talkative type.

  “Oh, I just thought…” the words trail off as Patrice walks up and lets out a little gasp. Her gaze bounces between the two of us, her expression one of horror. What is that about?

  “I…um….better go,” Lennon says softly, averting her gaze from me. “Um…thanks, Patrice. I’ll see you later.”

  Lennon practically runs away from us, large duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, the edge of a towel peeking out. Was she showering here? Why? She’s not on swim team, and I don’t think any other teams practice before school. Patrice eyes me funny. I clear my throat.

  “Thanks again,” I say.

  I need to get to tutoring, but instead I find myself following Lennon.

  Lennon

  Patrice swore that no one would be on campus this early.

  Out of all the people that could’ve shown up, why, oh, why did it have to be him? I still can’t believe he knew my name. I mean, we have a class together, but I didn’t think he’d noticed me. We’d never talked.

  And he’s Cameron freakin’ Blythe.

  Every girl in school knows who he is.

  I’d only been here a few weeks, and I’d heard his name dozens of times.

  Heart throb.

  Every girl’s fantasy.

  Pitcher on the baseball team.

  Guys like him don’t usually talk to me. They don’t usually even know I exist.

  Not like he’ll ever talk to me again. Not now that he’s seen me leaving the locker room at the butt crack. Probably thinks I’m a freak.

  Who showers at school?

  Homeless people, that’s who.

  Crap. I really didn’t want anyone to find out. It’s why I took Patrice up on her offer. I wanted to be clean and showered.

  I wanted to look like I have a home.

  Cameron

  I stay a safe distance behind he
r.

  She moves fast. Surprising, based on how heavy her duffle bag appears. Makes me wonder if maybe she does play a sport. I don’t even know why I’m following her. She acted so strange. Suspicious. Guess it made me curious.

  When she reaches the park a block down from our school, she finally slows down. I inch along the sidewalk, hiding behind a nearby bush. She stops at a car in the lot and opens the passenger door. A woman pops up from the front seat, hair sticking up everywhere. She yawns, glancing out the window. I yank my head back. Had she been sleeping? When I dare to peer again, I notice that the backseat is filled with junk – pillows, blankets, clothes.

  Lennon stands, duffel bag replaced by a backpack. Her mouth moves as she says something to the woman. Then she slams the passenger door shut and waves. The woman waves back before lying back down on the seat.

  My heart pounds in my chest.

  Do they live in their car?

  ****

  All day I can’t get Lennon out of my head. I think about her all through tutoring and during my first few classes. This morning I wanted to walk up and ask her point-blank if she was homeless. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. What kind of question is that? What if she’s not? She’d feel super insulted. And if she is, she probably doesn’t want anyone to know.

  I study her in history class. Nothing about her screams “homeless.” She may not dress like my sister who lives in expensive, designer brands, but it’s not like she’s wearing dirty, ripped clothes or anything. Just jeans and a t-shirt. I actually like it. Ever since my sister started hanging out with the popular girls, she always looks fake, overdone, like she’s trying too hard. And I guess that makes sense. She is.

  There’s nothing fake about Lennon. Her hair is dry now, and it falls down her back in soft waves. It was hard to tell the color this morning. When it was wet, it almost appeared black. But now it’s a light brown.

  Burgundy Hill is filled with bleached blonds wearing fake tans. And I’ve dated half a dozen of them. Maybe that’s why this girl intrigues me.

  Lennon notices me staring, and my cheeks burn. God, she probably thinks I’m some kind of crazy stalker.

  The rest of class I force my gaze to the front of the classroom. It’s not until the bell rings that I allow myself to look at Lennon again. I watch her walk out of class alone, head ducked, shoulders hunched.

  A warm hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Got a thing for the new girl?” Dom asks.

  I shake my head. “Know anything about her?”

  “Nope,” he says. “Just that she hardly talks.”

  Yeah, no kidding.

  “Going to practice today?” Dom swiftly changes the subject. Clearly, he’s not as interested in Lennon as I am.

  “Of course,” I answer. “I’m not off the team yet.”

  His face darkens. “Yet? Man, you better be joking.”

  “Yeah, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” My stomach knots. Tutoring was rough this morning. It didn’t help that I was late. I need to get it together.

  Lennon

  She is winter

  Ice in her veins, frozen lips, liquid lashes

  Azure eyes, hair black as night

  She lives in a world of summer

  Warmth, beauty

  Green eyes, hair gold as the sun

  She is a storm

  Strobes of lightning, roars of thunder

  Fingers like ice, shivering in the rain

  Powerful winds drawing summer her way

  Gathering it up, hoarding it

  Making it hers

  She is air

  Weightless

  No fingers to grasp

  No arms to hold

  She is alone

  Silence

  Darkness

  Invisible

  Cameron

  At our high school, you’re either popular, you want to be popular, or you want to blend in so no one messes with you. Then there’s Lennon. She’s not popular, doesn’t seem to want to be popular, and she definitely doesn’t blend in. She might as well wear a target on her back. It’s like she’s asking to be bullied, sitting in the middle of the quad bent over a notebook scribbling furiously with a pencil.

  What is she writing? And why is she so intense?

  Through the cafeteria window, I spot the guys from the team all crowded around our normal table. My sister and her friends are seated on the other side of the quad. Everyone has their group.

  My heart pinches.

  Blowing out a breath, I glance over at the cafeteria. It’s where I should go, but instead I end up marching over to where Lennon sits, hair covering her face.

  “Hey.”

  Her head bounces up, her eyebrows arched. She smothers the notebook with her hand, but not before I get a glimpse. Is that a poem? Who writes poems during lunch? Reaching up with a shaky hand, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Hey?” she says it like a question. As if she can’t figure out why I’m talking to her.

  I can’t either. Glancing back at the cafeteria, I blow out a breath. What am I doing? I have enough of my own crap to deal with. Why can’t I let this go?

  I blame my mom. She can’t pass a homeless person on the street without giving them money or food. We spend most Thanksgivings feeding the homeless, and for Christmas we buy gifts for every charity or organization my mom can find.

  “Talked to a friend of mine who’s on the swim team, and he said they didn’t have practice this morning,” I say. Pressing her lips together, she narrows her eyes, but says nothing. Cleary, she isn’t going to make this easy for me. “You’re not on swim team, are you?”

  “Told you I wasn’t.”

  She didn’t really. She didn’t say anything. Just barely shook her head.

  “No teams were practicing this morning,” I say. “What were you doing here so early?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  This girl doesn’t pull any punches. “I left something in my locker.”

  “Guess we’re both forgetful then.”

  Seriously? “You left something in your gym locker?”

  She nods, her expression tough, hard. But her hands tremble slightly, and she bites down on her bottom lip. There’s no brown paper lunch bag, bottled water or soda. Just the notepad in front of her, and a backpack near her feet with a boy’s name scrawled in permanent marker across the bottom. My chest tightens. I know I’m right. She’s homeless. I don’t need her to tell me. And it was a dick move to try to make her.

  “Well, I guess we were lucky the janitor was here to let us in then.”

  “Yeah,” she answers softly.

  “I’ll, um…talk to you later.” Stomach sagging, I turn around and walk off. When I reach the cafeteria, Dom motions me over.

  “There you are, man.”

  “About time,” Russ adds.

  I look out the window, my gaze landing on Lennon. She’s staring in my direction, but it’s hard to tell if she’s looking at me or not. Her expression is far away, almost glazed over. Or maybe it’s just fuzzy from the dirty glass.

  “Dude, stop getting distracted by the ladies,” Dom teases me, nudging me in the shoulder.

  I smile. He’s right. I need to stay focused on school and baseball. Everything else is just a distraction.

  Lennon

  The worst thing about living in a car:

  Is that you live in a car…duh.

  ***

  Somehow Cameron knows I’m homeless. Or if he doesn’t know, he suspects, which means it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out.

  Crap.

  I didn’t want anyone at this school to find out. And I honestly didn’t think anyone would. No one wants to get to know me. This is a pretty posh town. All money and cliques and pretty people. I’m a freak who smells weird, wears hand-me-downs and hardly talks.

  And that’s fine. It’s better than people knowing I’m homeless.

  Whenever people find out they do on
e of two things:

  Make fun of me.

  Or worse, feel sorry for me.

  Either way, I hate it.

  Sighing, I spot Cameron in the cafeteria with his friends. His gaze meets mine through the window, and my breath hitches in my throat. What is that guy’s deal? Why is he so interested in me?

  Cameron

  "Ugh." Abby groans, chucking her cell phone at the couch. "Sometimes Dakota and Erin are so annoying."

  "Sometimes?" I say with a laugh. Abby's friends are the worst. Frowning, she narrows her eyes. I blow out a breath and play into her hands. "What now?"

  Plunking down on the couch beside me, she shrugs. “They’re just always excluding me.”

  I clamp my mouth shut to keep from saying “I told you so.” When Abby first started hanging out with the “mean girls” of our school, I warned her it was a bad idea. I knew Dakota had a thing for me. She’s not exactly subtle. At the time, Abby refused to listen, and accused me of being full of myself.

  Instead of rubbing all of that in her face, I say, “That sucks.”

  “Yup.” She sticks out her bottom lip. Her lipstick is wearing off and smearing, and it kind of looks like her mouth is bleeding. “I need new friends.”

  Thank god. Maybe now I’d finally have some peace around here. Luckily, I wasn’t home that often. But when I was and she had her friends over, it was hell. If only she’d invite over someone cool.

  Someone I actually like.

  My heart stops, an image of Lennon filling my mind. An idea sparks “Hey, you know what? You should talk to the new girl.”

  Abby rolls her eyes and lets out a surprised laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?” I deadpan.

  She snorts. “Yeah, right.”

  “Why? I bet she’s a hell of a lot cooler than Dakota and Erin.”

  “She’s a freak,” Abby says.