Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5 by Eden Butler Page A

smells like me, or mostly like the God-awful forty dollar shampoo Donovan keeps in his shower. It also smells mildly of weed which Donovan’s idiot roommate smokes every afternoon after his classes. More importantly, and pathetic as it sounds, all traces of Autumn’s scent has disappeared.
    I haven’t slept more than five hours in two days.
    Dark circles have formed under my eyes and today at practice, Coach asked if I had the flu, threatened to send me to the infirmary. I begged him off and doubled my efforts with the sprints we were running, hoping that sheer exhaustion would help me sleep. But so far, it hasn’t worked, most likely, though, that’s due to Donovan’s amplified yells at whatever arsehole he’s playing against online. Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag.
    He’s losing.
    I’m not one to beg. I’m not one to want things that I have little chance at getting, but with Autumn, I have become a beggar. She is mine, no matter that she refuses to speak to me, the stubborn arse. She’s mine as much as I am hers. And so I swallow my pride, bite back any shred of dignity I thought I might have and dial a number on my phone out of desperation.
    It’s only ten p.m. Surely, she’s not in for the night.
    The phone rings twice and then I hear a fumble as though the person on the other side has answered then dropped their phone. I hear a distant “shit” and then “nice” and the soft voice picks up.
    “Declan, seriously?”
    “I’m sorry. I need to talk to you. Can you meet me?”
    Sayo’s breath is heavy, like she’s debating the wisdom of getting involved in Autumn’s love life at this point. It hadn’t gone well for Layla, even though Donovan says Autumn has finally resolved to speak to her again, deciding that her friend’s lack of judgment was actually my fault. Whatever. Besides, I know Sayo. She’s Autumn’s best friend. Of course she’s going to stick her nose into Autumn’s business.
    “You still at Donovan’s?” Sayo asks and I don’t bother to question how she knows that. Small fecking town and Donovan’s bigger mouth.
    “Yeah, but I can meet you at the coffee shop in town.” I don’t think Sayo would be too happy to visit me in this sardine can, guy-smelling weed shop of an apartment.
    “Fine. I’ll be there in ten.”
    She does not meet me in ten minutes. She does not meet me, in fact, until thirty minutes have passed and I’m convinced her lateness is meant to be some sort of test of my patience. I don’t care. I’d wait an hour, ten hours, if it meant I could actually talk to someone close to Autumn. Sayo is close to her, I know that, and so I don’t mind waiting. I don’t mind eating day old muffins and espresso that will ensure I get zero sleep tonight.
    The manager of the coffee shop kicked me out ten minutes ago to close, but I still wait at a table outside, running my take out cup between my fingers. It clicks against the plastic table as my eyes move up and down the nearly empty sidewalk. February in Cavanagh is always frigid; breath fogging in the cold temperatures, the smell of damp weather clinging to your lungs. The winds are picking up, the leaves gone from the trees. I know that the heat and humidity of summer will be here soon enough and I can’t wait for it. Autumn’s promised to take me to the Smokey Mountains. She wants us to watch the fireflies swarm. At least, that’s what she wanted . There is no way I can endure without her. No way for me to move past her, forget that I belong to her.
    She owns me.
    Sayo clears her throat as she approaches and my vision jumps to her. She nods once, but doesn’t speak and falls into the chair at my left. She wears one of her usual mad outfits—white, ripped Sex Pistols t-shirts and jeans so holey I can see the faint birthmark above her knee and a thick, gray wool pea coat. Her combat boots are black, the laces fluorescent orange. She looks rested, which surprises me since I know as Library Director she’s likely