Going for the Record Page 16

  “Good. You look like you picked up right where you left off. I knew this was all it would take to get you back to it.”

  He knew this was all it would take? To get me back to it?

  I look around, and sure enough, there’s Clay. Sitting in his car, in the parking lot next to the field.

  I cock my head to the side. “Enzo?”

  “What?” He pleads innocence with his hands, but he’s smirking.

  I run over to Clay’s car, and just as I expected, he’s wearing this impish grin, all proud of himself.

  I open the passenger door and get in, muddy shorts and all. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you just happened to be driving by and you saw me playing and thought you’d stop to see what I’m up to.” I punch him in the arm. “I should have known you were behind this.”

  He’s holding his bicep and rubbing it—I really nailed him—but he’s still got that smile smeared all over his face. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “Right.”

  “Really.”

  “Whose was it, then?”

  “Your mom’s.”

  Mom. My nose prickles.

  “She asked me if I could come up with a way to get you back out on the field.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “And I’m sorry.”

  I hope he knows I mean it.

  “For what?”

  I reach for his hand and he flinches like I’m going to slug him again.

  “For everything.”