Strike Out (Barlow Sisters Book 2) Read online

  She nods, then licks her lips, inching away from my guitar.

  I’m supposed to be in homeroom right now, but Mrs. Kesley let me out so I could deliver something to my dad. He’s the music teacher at Armitage High and thankfully everybody loves him. It makes my life easier.

  I was just heading back, planning on taking a shortcut from Dad’s room through the studio he created for us—the guy gave up his office/storage room so we could have a place to practice at school.

  But I’ve been stopped by this girl, who was eyeing my guitar like it was a diamond-studded tiara. I’m usually kind of precious about who touches my baby, but the look on her face was magical. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt my red Stratocaster.

  “You play?” I point to the instrument my parents gave me for Christmas three years ago.

  She glances down at it and quickly shakes her head like I’ve just busted her trying to steal it.

  “No. No, I don’t play. Um…” She starts backing away and ends up thumping into the edge of the doorframe.

  She jolts and lets out an embarrassed laugh before scratching her forehead and looking to the floor.

  My eyebrows crinkle. Man, she’s pretty flustered.

  Was she trying to steal it?

  I tense, wondering why the hallway door isn’t locked. The band came in through the music suite this morning. That door shouldn’t even be open. I’ll have to talk to the guys about it. Make sure we always lock the door behind us if we go out that way.

  We’ve been having a problem with stuff getting stolen this year, but surely it can’t be this chick, can it?

  Her jacket rustles as she shrugs. “I’m just…in the wrong area. It’s my first day, and…uh…”

  First day. Cool. She’s definitely an innocent, then.

  “Are you doing some kind of exchange or something?”

  “Huh?” She frowns at me. “No, I’ve just moved here from Ohio.”

  “Nice.” I give her a confident smile and start spinning the Celtic ring on my index finger. “So, are you lost? I mean, can I help you find your way somewhere?”

  Her mouth pops open and once again I’m wondering what I’ve said to make her so uneasy. Is my tone off? Am I not coming across as friendly?

  I raise my eyebrows, leaning forward as I await her response.

  “Um, no. I’m good.” She flashes me a closed-mouth smile. “I’m… I should…” She points over her shoulder, and then her eyes bug out as she spots something behind me. “I should go.”

  I turn to see Dad opening the door before spinning back in time to watch the mystery girl bolt from the room. “Wait, I…”

  My shoulders slump with a sigh and I don’t even understand why I’m disappointed. That chick was weird, but…intriguing.

  I really want to know what was making her so flustered.

  I mean, I guess girls can sometimes be a little skittish around me. I actually hate it, because it’s really awkward. They either get giggly and don’t know what to say…or they try to paw me.

  So I have long hair and I play a guitar. So I’m the lead singer of Velocity. That doesn’t make me any more special than the overweight guy I sit next to in Comparative Lit.

  “Who was that?” Dad’s been living in the States so long his Scottish accent is pretty mild. He moved here before I was born and told me that he learned to temper his words pretty quickly so people could actually understand what he was saying.

  Now it’s this weird kind of Scottish-American blend.

  I wish he’d just relax and unleash the Scotsman. When we go back to visit, it really comes out and it always makes me smile.

  I stick out my lower lip, still staring at the door the mystery girl bolted through.

  “Not sure.” I shrug, sliding my hands into my tattered jean pockets. “New girl, she said.”

  “What was she doing down here?”

  “I think she was lost.”

  “You should have offered to show her around.” Dad’s face flickers with a frown.

  “I did.” I point at the door. “She was jittery and nervous. The second she saw you, she just took off like you were the devil…or maybe a Yeti…or Bigfoot…or one of those really disgusting trolls from Lord of the Rings. You know, the ones with the—”

  “Shut it, you.” Dad snorts, tucking a thick black curl behind his ear. “I don’t think I’m the scary one.”

  “Come on.” I give him a sly smile. “It’s not like it’s gonna be me. I’m not scary-looking.”

  “No, but you’re so beautiful. Some girls can’t handle it.”

  I roll my eyes at his mocking tone and he starts to chortle.

  “You’re not funny, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Oh, but I am. And I’m cool,” he says. “I’m married to the sexiest woman on the planet, which makes me a king, lad. And you’re my prince charming.”

  “Shut up.” I snicker, reaching for my guitar.

  “Don’t even think about playing that.” Dad points at me. “You should be back in class by now. Mrs. Kesley will have my head if I give you any special treatment. Off you go. Try not to make any girls swoon along the way.”

  “You really think you’re on form today, don’t you?” I glare at him.

  “Oh, I know I am, Don Juan.” He gives me a cheeky grin before laughing and grabbing a file of music off the shelf.

  I growl in my throat and pull the door open. Dad and I have been bantering since I was old enough to start getting his jokes. I usually don’t mind, but the whole me being beautiful thing is wearing thin.

  I’m not complaining about my looks. I love the color of my skin and that my parents are a mixed-race couple. I love my style, and I usually don’t care what other people think about me…unless it makes them so tongue-tied that they can’t even talk.

  Surely that chick wasn’t lost for words because of me.

  But I don’t think she was stealing my guitar either. Although she was looking at it like it was the most precious thing she’d ever seen.

  Man, that spark of longing on her face was something else.

  But she said she doesn’t play.

  I saunter down the empty hall, my mind buzzing with questions as I try to figure out the new girl and wonder if I can somehow find a way to talk to her again…without sending the gossip train speeding from the station.

  Cairo Hale scores himself another girlfriend!

  I can see the headlines already.

  Groan.

  I really hate how small this school is sometimes.

  3

  Max

  MAX

  I tap my pen on the dining room table, aware that it’s probably distracting Chloe. She doesn’t say anything, though. She’s too busy smiling out the window, no doubt thinking about Holden Carter.

  Ugh. He gave her one little wink at lunchtime and she’s turned into a swoon machine. I mean, yeah, he’s hot-ish, but he’s cocky and I really hate that. Maddie does too. Oh man, the way she’s been going on about what a jerk he is…

  I glance at my twin and fight a smile. I bet she likes him too. She’d rather die than admit it, though.

  Maddie’s not about feelings. Everything for her has a practical edge to it. That’s why she dated Patrick the Boring for so damn long. It made sense. It was logical. Practical.

  BORING!

  But then on the other side, you’ve got Chloe—the romantic sap who wants to be rescued by a dashing prince. He’ll whisper sonnets in her ear as he carries her off into the sunset.

  LAME!

  I’m not into any of that stuff.

  An image of Cairo Hale flashes through my brain and I squirm in my seat as I dodge the hot tingles spreading through my body. I’ve never seen such a gorgeous person before. It wasn’t just his facial structure—which is perfect, by the way. He’s got one of those long straight noses and these black eyebrows, and his chin is…well, it’s the perfect shape. He’s got this wispy kind of stubble going on and this barely there mustache that should
be totally cheesy but it’s…it’s… I don’t know what it is, but it definitely didn’t put me off.

  And the clothes he was wearing.

  I mean, talk about cool.

  Rings on his fingers, this thick leather watch, a silver necklace with a little vial on the end. I bet there’s something cool in it, like ash from a volcano or his first love’s blood—no, that’s creepy. I’ll stick with the volcanic ash.

  I bet he’s got a tattoo somewhere on that long, lean body of his.

  He screams rock star, which I guess is appropriate since he’s the lead singer of Velocity. Man, I’d love to watch him play. I bet he’d be gorgeous on stage.

  Which is why the girls swoon.

  And why he’ll never be an option for me.

  I’m Max—the baseball player, the girl who out-burped Miles Grousman, the one who can’t string a full sentence together, apparently.

  Man, that was embarrassing this morning.

  Chewing the end of my pen, I forget about the readings I’m supposed to do for Economics tomorrow, and instead relive the humiliation of standing in that music studio acting like an idiot in front of the hottest asset Armitage High has.

  Kill me now.

  Or maybe it was a good thing. I mean, according to Rahn (aka the tour guide who found us like three hours too late!) Velocity is super-exclusive. They stick to themselves and don’t make room for too many others.

  Which means I’m out of the picture anyway, so acting like a bumbling idiot around the guy shouldn’t bug me, because I’ll probably never speak to him again.

  “Hey, Max, can I talk to you?” Dad walks into the dining room and tips his head.

  My stomach instantly knots, but I follow him down to my room without a word of complaint. The second we walk in, he pulls a sheet of paper from his back pocket and my stomach knots get drenched with super glue.

  “Take a seat.” He points to my bed and then perches on Maddie’s bed, opposite me.

  “What’s up?”

  “I printed out your baseball stats at work today.”

  Aw, crap. Not this again. Why didn’t he print out Maddie’s and Chloe’s too? Why does it always have to be about me?

  I give him a closed-mouth smile and try for a distraction. “So, how was your first day at work?”

  “Oh.” Dad frowns and starts rubbing the lines in his forehead. “It’s gonna be a tough transition. Lots of responsibility. This town has its own special culture and I need to learn it pretty fast.”

  “I bet Mayor Carter’s helping you with that.” I raise my eyebrows, internally cringing when I think about his visit from the day before. Talk about a cheesezoid. All show and no substance. That’s the vibe I got anyway.

  His son appears to be similar. Must run in the family.

  “Yeah, we had a good chat today. I know he comes across as very… smiley and politician-like, but he really wants to revive this town. He has great plans for this place, and I’m going to help him.” Dad’s head bobs. “It’ll be tough. The northwest side has some gang type issues.”

  “The Mancinis?”

  “Heard about ’em already, huh?”

  I shrug. “Rahn, the chick who gave us the lowdown today, mentioned that it was best to avoid Vincent Mancini. She said that he comes from a bad family or something.”

  “As much as I hate to judge before I meet someone, this girl might be right. It’s probably best if you just stick close to your sisters and the team. Thankfully you’ll be so busy playing ball, you won’t have time to get in trouble.” Dad’s grin could power every lighthouse on the West Coast as he holds out the sheet of paper to me. “I want you to make a time to meet with Coach Keenan so you can go over your stats with him. He was pretty reluctant to let you girls have a tryout yesterday, and I think it’s important that he knows the kind of talent he’ll be sending onto the field when he lets you play.”

  “Okay.” I take the sheet and open it up, scanning the digits on the page. It’s all laid out—batting average, slugging percentage, runs per game.

  I swallow and refold the paper.

  “I should have taken these with me yesterday. He needs to understand that you’re in the running for a baseball scholarship. The coach from Ohio University was serious when I spoke to him, you know? You have a shot. You were the best player in your club. Hell, you were the best in your league.”

  “It was a private girls’ league, Dad.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You’re a good player, Max. You’ve got what it takes.”

  I nod, staring down at the worn carpet beneath Dad’s shoes.

  “I know it’s going to be tough going up against a bunch of guys, but you can do it. You’re just as good as any of them.”

  I open my mouth to argue but he cuts me off.

  “No, you are.” He points at me. “I believe in you, kid. You were only two when you started playing catch with me. Your talent shone through from the start.”

  I give him a tight smile and croak, “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Now, I know it’s rare for a girl to get a baseball scholarship in college, but it can happen, and just because we’ve moved here doesn’t mean the chance is gone.”

  It doesn’t?

  Bummer.

  My eyebrows flicker with a frown.

  Did I just think bummer?

  I swallow, hoping Dad can’t read my mind.

  Nope, he’s not even looking at me. He’s holding a picture of my five-year-old self, pristine in my first baseball uniform. I’m grinning at the camera, so happy that I’ve made my dad proud.

  “The scouts we’ve sent your videos to know the change of circumstances, and we’ll make sure we get some of them to Armitage to watch you this season. The rest is up to you.” He places the photo back down and beams me a smile. “You know, playing with guys will be good for you. It’ll prep you for the tougher college games.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I nod.

  “Look, I know they were jerks yesterday. I wanted to give that idiot who threw the ball at Maddie a piece of my mind.”

  I snicker. “Don’t worry, she’ll show him who’s boss.”

  “Yeah, she will.” Dad chuckles with me. “Those morons are probably threatened by you. They don’t want the girls to outplay them, but they’ll just have to get over it. The Barlow sisters are in town, and they’re not going anywhere.”

  I cringe.

  “Too much?”

  “A little bit. Your pep talks need some work. Borderline cheesy, which no one loves…except Maddie.” I grin.

  Dad chuckles and shakes his head. “I just want what’s best for my girls. And as much as I hate to say this, we need you to get that scholarship, Max. College is expensive, and even though Mom and I have been saving, with twins and then Chloe a year behind you, it’s…”

  He lets his sentence run off, but the weight of what he’s not saying is a heavy burden. Maddie is gunning for a partial scholarship and she’s smart enough to get it, but even then, that’s still a crapload of money my parents have to find.

  I’m the best shot Mom and Dad have of getting all three of their daughters through. If I can be alluring enough for a college team, even if I can’t get a full scholarship, they might offer me financial aid. Dad’s one hell of a negotiator, and he’ll be gunning for the best deal he can get me.

  I swallow and force a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll play my season and hope for the best.”

  “You can’t just do that, Max.” Dad’s expression is pained. “You can’t be flippant about this. You’re gonna have to work harder than you ever have before. I’ve already started drawing up a schedule for you. We’ve got to make sure you’re at your absolute peak this season.”

  I grip the edge of the mattress.

  “Gender’s not an issue. You show those Pitbulls, those scouts…everybody that you’re better than any guy on that field. It’s up to you to make the Barlows shine. Can you do that for me?”

  I put on my bravest smile. The weight of
his demand is trying to flatten me. “Yeah, Dad. Of course I can.”

  “That’s my girl.” Dad stands and ruffles my hair like I’m his favorite puppy before walking to the door. “Sorry to interrupt your homework. I’ll let you get back to it.”

  “Thanks,” I croak.

  He beams me another proud smile, then slips out of my room.

  That look on his face is great. Really. I should adore it. Strive for it, the way Maddie does.

  But it’s so debilitating sometimes.

  I used to love being the apple of my father’s eye.

  But what if I don’t want to be an apple anymore?

  The red Stratocaster flashes through my mind and I brush the tips of my fingers with my thumb. I wonder what it’d feel like in my hands. I wonder how awesome it would be to flick the strings and create music.

  Music.

  Reaching for my headphones without a second thought, I pull them on and press Play. “Silent Scream” is soon overtaking my senses. Lying down, I close my eyes and let it swamp me.

  4

  An Offer

  CAIRO

  I cross my ankles and rest my boots on the floor, still messing around on the guitar even though practice is over. Latifa is sitting on the chair beside me, her shoulder leaning against mine as she taps Roman’s drumsticks on her thigh.

  We finished practice a few minutes ago and are just kicking around in our practice room until the bell rings. Most days, we skip the horror of the cafeteria and hang out down here. It’s way more relaxing than the zoo. If we didn’t have to eat, we’d never go in there. It’s usually a case of quickly grabbing a sandwich and heading down to our haven.

  Thankfully, I have a key and we can get in anytime we like. Dad’s always been a little paranoid about the safety of the instruments, even more so since the robberies started. But he trusts me to lock up when we leave. I haven’t told him about the other morning yet. I must make sure the studio is locked up tight when we walk out today. I still don’t know who left it open, but I’m not about to point fingers. It’s my responsibility, and I just need to make sure it gets done every time.