The silent treatment went on for all of practice, and when we were in the weight room. He barely looked at me when he was hitting ground balls my direction. Not a word escaped his lips directed towards me. I didn't even try to talk to him. If he was going to be an ass, I'll just do the same. As mentally unstable as I sound, I wanted him to yell at me instead of this. It's a good sign if coaches give you constant corrections and yell at you. It means they think you have potential and can do better. The silence is just a nice way of saying they don't think you are any good. I've been yelled at a lot in my life, and it makes you grow. No critiques or criticism just makes you wonder.

We finished practice at the same time we had finished yesterday. The weight room session was the same. No running this time, thank God, but doing some of the lifting made me cringe from my back. Each exercise sent a constricting pain down my spine and across my shoulders. Who knows what exactly I did to it yesterday when I fell, but I knew that whatever I did it hurt like hell. Many times during the time frame we were working out, I had to stop and try to catch my breath from the pain. Harrison watched me carefully the whole time. His thoughtful dark eyes stayed on me, watching for anything serious.

I had made it through the weights session without a peep. No use in complaining about it, then being told that I shouldn't be here for the probably hundredth time. So I was pretty much silent during the whole time until Coach called time and told us we could leave. Harrison and I had gone back to the dorms together and gone our separate ways. I had showered and changed before deciding I wanted to lay down for a while.

Currently, I was laying on my bed with another pack of ice sitting on my back. I had my earbuds in my ears to keep me occupied for the twenty minute cycles, I've been using for the time I keep on the ice. Miles had gone off to Jackson's room, leaving me by myself. I really didn't mind not having him in my hair all the time. My phone buzzed from my bed side table. I stretched my arm out without having to move from my current position. Swiping my finger across the screen, a message from Alyssa popped up on the screen.

Hi Gloria!!! Hope you're having a blast at baseball camp. Nick and I are heading to Ocean City next week. I wish you were coming with us. Text me!

I smiled at the screen and answered the text.

It's going okay here. I wish I was there too. Tell me how OC Beach is when you get there.

I've been going to Ocean City for my whole life during the summer. It's weird not going now. We would always stay in a hotel right on the beach, overlooking the boardwalk. When Dad was alive, we would take walks along the beach together. We would get up at some ungodly time in the morning before anyone else was out yet. The waves would lap up to our bare feet and tickle my toes. The moon and a few stars would still be out as the sun slowly started to peak up from behind the horizon. We would walk for about a hour before going to a small coffee shop on the far side of the boardwalk. I would get hot chocolate with some breakfast pastry. Dad would read the newspaper while I read a book. It was the part of summer breaks I would look forward to the most. The rest of the day we would be on the beach. Mom was always with her big striped umbrella and swim towels. Dad and I would bring the gloves and throw the ball before getting hot and jumping in to the cool salty waves.

Most of the pictures that I pined up on my wall were from the beach. A few were of other places, but the beach was my happy place. I glanced up at the wall of memories and a picture from last summer caught my eye. It was of Alyssa and I at Ocean City coming out of the water. Her long dark hair was in loose ringlets from the sun drying her hair. Her skin was tan and dark from the beating sun making me look even paler than usual. Alyssa was perfect, and before I knew her I was jealous of her. Then we had a class together 8th grade year, and now she's one of my best friends.

I checked the time on my phone realizing it was already time for dinner. Taking off the bag of ice and slipping on flip flops, I grabbed a room key and my phone before heading out to the elevator. I had changed in to a pair of black shorts and a plain pink tank top with embroidery at the rounded neck line. I had just tossed my hair in to a messy bun not even bothering to brush it.

When I got outside the day was still hot and humid. If the dining auditorium was any farther, I would probably melt in to a puddle on the sidewalk like dropped ice cream.

The cafeteria was pretty full since I was running kind of late from my lounging on my bed. Grabbing a plate from the stack, I placed a piece of grilled chicken, some grilled vegetables, and long grain rice on it. The team's table was packed with all the guys already eating. A chair was still empty that was between Harrison and Dylan. I was glad they had saved me a chair, and thankfully it was between people I can tolerate.

"You're a little late," Harrison observed taking a bite of chicken.

"Lost track of time," I said sitting down.

"I'm glad you're here now," he said giving me a toothy grin.

I ruffled his hair before starting to eat my dinner. The rest of the team seemed to be all talking together instead of in the usual side conversations.

"I'm just saying, the Red Sox are going all the way," Miles was saying at the other end of the table.

I snorted quietly at his comment. He was so full of himself and everything he thought was right or what he liked.

"We are loaded with all the right players and have a good record," he continued.

I laughed out loud at that statement.

"Would you like to share something, Gloria?" Miles questioned me.

"Sure," I said putting down my fork. "You are full of bullshit."

The team snickered as I looked levelly at Miles's storming eyes. His nose flared, and his mouth twitched angrily.

"And why is that?" he said glaring.

"The Red Sox are barely going to make it to the playoffs, if they even do. They're barely over .400. They can't even finish a game. The defense is mediocre, and offense is just a mess. Most of their last games, they only score one or two runs. You can't win a game if you can't score. The only thing that is saving their sorry asses is the pitching, and even that is not that great," I explained picking up my fork to stab a round of squash to put in my mouth. I chewed the vegetable and looked up at the wide eyes.

"The Red Sox are a legacy in baseball. They will make the playoffs and will win the World Series. What, do think your little Nationals team will do anything good?" Miles snapped at me. His tone was harsh and demanding, but a look of amusement played in to his eyes. He was going to test how much I really know.

"My little Nationals team is well over .500. Last time I checked, they were close to .700. Our whole line up can out bat the Red Sox any day. Let me see. Defense is solid for us. The outfield is one of the best in the league. Now pitching, I mean come on. We have Strasburg, Ross, Gonzales, and Scherzer." I raised my eyebrows daring him to speak and continued eating.

Miles was silent and so was the rest of the team. Gotta say I shut them up pretty quick. I know my stuff. I wouldn't fight with someone if I didn't know what I was talking about. There's no sense in getting in to something and getting embarrassed. Miles hasn't apparently learned this important lesson.

Miles ran a hand through his blonde hair with a small grin on his lips. "Well, I still think we're going to win," he said simply before looking back down to his meal.

I won. That was for sure. He didn't know what to come back with.

"You got him," Dylan whispered from beside me. I giggled softly at his comment.

...

"What's your favorite color?"

I snapped my head up from my book that I was enthralled with. Did I hear him correctly?

"What?"

"What's your favorite color?" Miles asked again looking up from his phone at me.

I couldn't help but quirk my eyebrow. I did hear him right.

"Ah, purple?"

"That sounded like a question."

"Why are you asking?"

"We're room mates, so we might as well get to know each other better."

"And knowing each other's favorite color is important to know?"

"It's a simple question that most acquaintances know about each other," he explained.

As macho and badass as Miles tries to act, he really is like a little kid inside. "Lavender then. What's yours?"

"Blue," he answered without missing a beat.

I tilted my book back up, so I could keep reading. Before I could even find the line I was at, another question was aimed at me.

"What's your favorite food?"

I have him a really look at his oh-so-mature question before answering.

"Lasagna."

"Nice. I'm more of a steak guy personally."

"That's great,"I said getting agitated. He knew I was reading. Could he not leave me alone for 20 minutes?

Not 30 seconds later, Miles opened his damn mouth again, a question was aimed my way.

"What's your favorite animal?" he asked.

I gave him another annoyed look. He watched me waiting for an answer. Maybe if I just answer the question, he'll leave me alone.

"A dog."

"Me too."

Picking my book back up, I found the line I was at and continued reading. I had barely read three lines when Miles opened his goddamn mouth again.

"Do you have any pets?"

I slammed my book closed and threw it down in my lap. I glared him, which he only gave a response of knitting his eyebrows together.

"What?" he said.

"Do you not see I'm trying to read? But you just keep asking me these questions that first grades ask each other," I snapped at him.

"Sorry. I just thought we would get along better if we got to know each other," Miles said sounding hurt. He picked back up his phone and started scrolling through something.

Wonderful, now I'm the bad guy. It's not like I meant to be mean to him. He's just so annoying.

"I have a German Shepard named Lenny," I said placing my book on my night stand.

"Siblings?"

"I'm an only child," I replied picking at the end of my braid.

"Oh, I have two older brothers."

"What're their names?"

"Colton is nineteen, and Chase is twenty-one. Here. I have a picture of us on my phone."

Miles scrolled through his phone, and then tossed his phone to me. I flipped over his iPhone and looked at the picture.

There were four boys in the picture. Miles was on the far left with his arm slung over the guy next to him. The guy to the right of Miles was a blonde as well, but it was a lighter shade and was longer than Miles. He had blue colored eyes, and a smirk tugged at his lips.

"The one next to me is Colton," Miles answered the question that I was about to ask.

When I looked back down at the picture, I realized that Jackson was next to Colton.

"Is that Jackson?" I asked looking up at him.

"Yep. We've known each other for forever. All four of us have grown up together."

A genuine smile was pulling at his face. For the short time I've known Miles, that was the first real smile I've seen from him. It was usually a smirk or glare that was directed my way. I could tell that his brothers and Jackson meant a lot to him.

I looked back down at the phone. The guy on the far right must be Chase. He had light brown hair that was cut very short. His eyes were the same green as Miles had. He definitely looked the most mature of all the boys in the picture.

"Chase is going into the Army," Miles piped up with a swell of pride in his voice.

Now the haircut makes sense.

"So if you don't have any siblings, what're your parents like?" he asked. His green eyes were fully attentive on me.

I pressed my lips in to a thin line. This was a hard subject for me. As long as I skirted around the question enough, I could get past it. Biting the inside of my bottom lip, I swallowed before answering. "I look a lot like my mom. She has red hair, and she's pretty short. She's a prosecutor for the state of Maryland, so she works a lot," I replied vaguely. Hopefully if I just don't talk about my dad, he'll forget about it.

"That's cool. What about your dad?" he asked causally, propping his head up on his palm.

Damn it. He asked the one question I did not want to answer. I clenched one hand tightly trying to keep my composure. My nails bit in to the skin and forced me to think of something quick.

"I'm actually really tired, so I'm going to go to bed," I said finally after a long uncomfortable pause while Miles was waiting for an answer.

"Oh, okay," Miles said confused from my sudden fatigue. His eyebrows knit together, and his eyes seemed to look at me worriedly as I took off my glasses.

Pulling the elastic out of my hair, I settled in to bed.

"Good night, Gloria," Miles whispered from his bed.

"Good night," I answered, switching the lamp off.

I couldn't help but lay there and think of how well that conversation was going, and I just blew him off because of the whole Dad conversation. It was a touchy subject for me. I still have nightmares on the rare occasion. It mostly was when I get really worked up before bed, then when I go to sleep the nightmare comes. It's always the same one. I stand facing my dad in a white room, and I slowly watch the cancer eat him alive. It hasn't happened too recently, but I definitely make sure I calm myself down before going to bed.

Miles's breaths became heavy and even, telling me he had fallen asleep. I was tempted to just tell him everything about my dad, right then and there, but I don't know this kid. Even if he is asleep, I'm not going to spill the most personal thing about me. Dad leads to the fat years, which leads to Chris. It was just a very long chain of sob stories.