Chapter Eleven
“Oh. My. God! Donovan Valentine, I can’t believe it!”
Ella’s neck stiffened when she heard that shrieking voice. She couldn’t help it. Since high school, Vicki Blair had gotten on her nerves just on principle alone. Everything that the preppy blonde popular Barbie-clone represented was something Ella hated. Vicki valued appearances. Ella thought what was on the inside counted most. Vicki liked power, Ella valued intimacy. Vicki cared about popularity, Ella felt authenticity with true friends was what mattered.
In short, as an artist, Ella valued truth and Vicki represented façades. That was always going to be a nearly impossible gap to bridge.
But when that hoochie mama had started throwing herself at Donovan at every opportunity? Oh, no. Then it was over. As far as Ella was concerned, they were arch enemies.
Rage already burning in her gut at what she knew she was going to see, Ella forced herself to turn her gaze away from the outfield and toward the gate where Donovan was apparently entering the field.
Yep. Her prediction had been correct. Well, calling it a “prediction” was giving herself far too much credit. She’d seen the scene play out so often that it was really just a replay of many past instances. Donovan entered, and Vicki threw her arms around his neck and clung to him like a jellyfish.
Ella took a deep breath, trying to quell the creeping nausea that sprang up in her belly at the sight.
Gen appeared at her side and slung her arm casually over Ella’s shoulders. “Hey, babe. Can I make a suggestion?”
“Sure, if you think it would be useful.”
“Maybe put the bat down before you go say hi.”
Ella turned and grinned at her friend. “Oh, hey, look at that. It was useful.”
Gen nudged her. “I have my moments.”
Ella straightened her shoulders. “I should go over and say hello.”
“You should.”
“I have to be the bigger person.”
“You do.”
“I can’t let her know how much she gets to me.”
“You can’t.”
Ella stood rooted to the spot. After a few moments, she said, “And yet I’m still standing here.”
“Yep.”
“Just watching.”
“Indeed.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Gen shrugged. “No way to know. It’s certainly not because of any feelings you might have for Donovan.”
“Nope.”
“It’s just because you hate Vicki.”
“Rightfully so.”
“Indisputably. But still. Not because of feelings. Feelings don’t come into play at all here. Just to be clear.”
“Crystal.”
Ella straightened her shoulders, dropped the bat on her duffel bag, and sauntered over to Donovan, Gen trailing along after.
Vicki gave her a dirty look, and she tried to take the advice that Gen had given her in the past about being strong in conflict—take strength from the other person’s rage rather than cowering in front of it. That way, she’d be the one with the control and power.
It was easier said than done, but she was committed to Operation Lion Not Bunny. So, instead of fidgeting and casting her eyes around in discomfort like she was tempted to do, she simply smiled placidly at Vicki and then turned to Donovan. “Hey, you made it. True to your word.”
Donovan disentangled himself from jellyfish Vicki and wrapped her up in a hug. “Hey, Ell. You know I’d never break a promise to you.”
Ella couldn’t see Vicki’s face, but somehow she could still feel the daggers the girl was shooting into her back. She was proud of herself. Maybe it was Donovan’s presence propping her up like it always did or maybe it was Gen’s advice finally, finally sinking in. But, whatever the reason, she found herself emboldened and even a little bit amused by Vicki’s ire instead of cringing away from it.
Damn, she kinda liked this new version of herself. I am Lion, hear me roar!
She pulled back. “So are you ready to play some ball?”
“Oh my God, I have the best idea! I know what we need to do while you’re in town!” Vicki exclaimed.
“Oh my God, like, let me guess. Is it going to be some excuse for you to be, like, the center of attention?” Genevieve mocked in a faux Valley Girl accent.
Vicki rolled her eyes at Gen’s comments and continued like no one had said anything. “We need to get our fifteen year reunion off the ground. It’s a must. I mean, I wasn’t going to even attempt something until the twentieth, but with you here, Donovan, it’s the perfect reason!”
Donovan shook his head. “I really don’t know how long I’ll be in town.”
Vicki smacked his shoulder and giggled like he’d made a joke. “Oh, don’t be silly.”
Donovan shook his head. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me when I say that?”
“Maybe because no one wants it to be true,” Ella blurted. Wow! Apparently her mental filter was taking a day off. The words had flown out of her mouth without so much as a second thought, and it was all she could do to stop herself from dramatically gasping, widening her eyes, and smacking her hand to her mouth like she was starring in a vaudeville review.
As it was, she felt her cheeks heating up. She knew they must be fire-engine red but tried not to think about it. After all, there was nothing she could do about it and dwelling on it would only serve to make her behavior even more awkward.
As if that were possible.
Luckily, she was saved from the torture of a long, drawn out silence by the game starting. She thanked the Universe—or at least Donovan’s brother—for having her back in that moment.
As she jogged back over to her gym bag, she tried to calm the raging heat just under the skin of her cheeks. She didn’t appreciate her private inner thoughts and emotions being broadcast to anyone and everyone who just happened to glance at her face.
She was an open book in some ways. Obviously, as an artist, she had to be comfortable with the idea of baring her soul. But she liked to take her inner turmoil, ponder it and turn it over and over, gazing at it from every angle until it made some sort of sense, and then synthesize it into something beautiful. Into art.
Blurting out thoughtless comments and then standing by helplessly while her face was engulfed in a raging fire of blush was not exactly the same thing.
Gen jogged over to her. “You okay? Do we need to go?”
She shrugged, adopting a blasé air so pathetic that it sounded fake even to her own ears, and she wasn’t the one she was trying to fool. “It’s all good in the hood. I’m cool, baby. Cucumber.”
Gen’s face contorted in horror. “We do need to go. You’ve had a stroke. Clearly.”
“I’m fine.”
Gen snorted. “That’s the stroke talking.”
Ella gave her a pleading look. “Can we just play ball? Please? I just need to maintain, here.”
Gen smiled. “Your wish is my command. And after that, we’ll go down to the bar and get shitfaced, and after that, Vicki hanging all over Donovan—not to mention your little blurty snafu—will be nothing but a distant, alcohol-soaked memory.”
Ella grinned. “See? This is why you’re my friend.”