I told Annie that I couldn't do a huge anniversary thing this year because if we made the State championship, it would be the weekend of the anniversary, so that meant I'd have a shitload of stuff to do. Double practices and studying game film and doing team building and motivating the guys--like this past week, before State Semifinals, I was like a fucking chicken with my head cut off. But it was totally worth it, I figured, because I was healthy this year, and we were going to fucking win it all, just like baseball.

We lost last night. We didn't just lose, we got killed.

I'm pissed because we lost. I'm pissed that I let everyone down who counted on me to get it done because I'm me, and that's what I do. I'm pissed that I let Hunt down, because I promised him that we'd win. And now I'm pissed because all I got now is our two year anniversary and I don't think I'm doing enough. But what I'm really pissed about is just--it's over. It's over. There's no more football after this, not at SHS. And after this anniversary, well, I dunno if we'll have a third year. How in the hell are me and Annie going to make it with me in Georgia and her in England if she decides to go to Oxford? This is gonna be it. I'm out of time, and I didn't do enough, not what I wanted at all.

We lost. And now I feel like--instead of thinking about how much more time she and I have before we go to college, I think about how little time we have left.

Fuck.

Hunter's home and he's all better. Hunter was so sick that we thought he was going to die, but now he's alright. Hunter beat it. Hunter got better. Now he's all better.

That'll happen every time, right? Every time. Every time will end like this, right?

Okay, sleeping over at Annie's is always a challenge to get back to my place before Mom and Dad notice. I gotta stop doing this during the week, just save it for weekends when I can lie that I'm sleeping over at Bents' or something.

Anyway, yesterday was Annie's birthday, and I totally kicked ass at planning because she nearly died with happiness over the garden and she nearly cried herself into a puddle over it all. And I gave her a bunch of roses, took her to Chez Maurice, and then we did the Sixteen Candles cake thing and swam in the hot tub and then we--you know. Did it. In the indoor hot tub. Which was like a birthday present to me.

But I'm still an asshole.

Because my girlfriend had a solid week where she was struggling, and I was almost relieved because I knew how to handle that, I know how to make things better for Annie when she's sick. That weird thing where she acted all better freaked me out, and what kind of fucker feels better when his girlfriend is sinking? She's doing okay now, and she's stopped insisting that she's all better, and I'm the biggest dick in the world to sit here and feel relief that she still think she's sick. I made her birthday the most perfect day I could because I'm the biggest asshole, and when she and I were in the water and she was floating and looking like this perfect pale angel, I hated myself. I hated myself for not wanting her to be all better, for thinking that my broken baby is completely perfect, too.

Well.

Thank the Lord I'm a Kentucky fan, or I'd give a shit.

No: I do. Pitino is held up as a god back home; he can do no wrong, he's--perfect. I personally think he's a dick, but that's just because I hate U of L. I mean, he did always seem like a great guy, I guess. Dad said, when this story first came out, the extortion stuff, that it was clear that he slept with her, and she was pissed. I was all, how do you know he did, he seems like a great guy, all of that. And Dad looked at me and said, The higher you hold them up, the more likely they're gonna fall.

Isn't that what I'm the most scared of? The more success I get, the higher I'm lifted. After how good I did in Chicago--I mean, is this what's gonna happen to me? Sport athletes get divorced at this massive rate, and they cheat on their wives and girlfriends all the time: is that going to be me? With all of the temptation, do you have the strength to say no every time you should? I'm seventeen, and I've been drinking for three years, I used to smoke when I got drunk. I'm not that perfect, I already slip--when you're that high, looking down, just a bit'll make you lose your balance and down you fucking go. Maybe being that high is so scary that you want an excuse to fall. I mean, how can you live like that? So much pressure on you to be that person you can't be, because no one is perfect. Pretending you are will just kill you.

Annie.

Jesus. Is it worth it? Maybe this is why I should go to college and not go pro right away--

Because if I go to college, I can still change my mind if I decide this isn't worth it. Not to me.

I gotta get going--football practice. Yeah.

I can't sleep. And it's not because of the game. I mean, it was maybe the best moment of my life. Or, one of them, I don't think I'd knock out winning States or the first time that Annie and I did it or something, so it's just tied, but it's tied for the best moment of my life. I pitched at Wrigley Field, and I kicked ass. Hunter took the MVP trophy, of course, because heaven forbid that I get to keep anything that I've won, but I'll never let go of how that felt. All of that fucking work to get three pitches up and running solid like I do, to not always go to the heat, it's paid off. It has.

But what's keeping me up isn't that: it's Lewis. It's the fact that I know I've done all of this hard work, I work my ass off, but he just thinks that it all comes so fucking easy. It doesn't--does it? I mean, I know that all of the stuff I do, it comes from something in me, but I'm not a slacker. I was studying film when I was ten, come on! I mean, sure, I could have dated Cokie for a long time, but I'm not a party guy, deep down, I like doing really well in school and all of that. Why can't Lewis see that? Why does he keep telling me that it all comes so easy? It pisses me off!

I don't know. Then I think about Annie, of all of the girls who treat her like shit because of me. People get hurt because of me, sometimes. I don't get Lewis's deal, but--I don't know. Maybe it is me. A little. Just a little. I don't know.

Can you be pissed at someone and feel sorry for them at the same time?

Well, I'm here in New York, at Bee's brother's townhouse mansion, visiting Annie for a few days. And I'm looking back at my diary, my paper diary? And I'm kinda stunned at how many entries are starting with where I am. I guess I didn't realize how much I've been traveling this summer, from All Star games to camps to clinics? That one football camp, too? It's like I haven't been in Stoneybrook at all.

No wonder my bank account is so fucking anemic: I haven't gotten any time to work at The Rosebud.

But all of this is gonna pay me back a hundredfold--I'm almost used to scouts and coaches and shit telling me that I should skip college to go pro right outta high school. And it's hard to keep my head on--I mean, it's like I told Dad, when I'm out here at an All-Star game and clinic, it's so easy to think that you are the shit when you're getting all of this praise heaped on you. I don't know, I guess it's real good that I got Dad and Mom to cut me back down to size or Hunt to remind me what's important. And Annie to really get me to talk about how, under all of the ego, is a lot of--

A lot of fear. I guess I'm kinda--I'm really scared.

I don't want to fuck up. I don't want to fail. I don't want to make the wrong choice--going pro when I should have gone to college because if you go, you gotta give them three whole years, or the other way around. But more than that, I don't want any of these scouts and coaches, all of these guys in the camps and shit with me, to think that I'm just some one-hit wonder. Or hitless, I guess. Mr. Five No Hitters, and that's all he had.

I don't know. Annie's asleep next to me--Jesus, is she beautiful--and I can still see the vertebrate poking up her back. She's so damn thin still. I thought, with how happy she is in New York, she'd be cured. Like magic, she'd gain all of the weight she's lost right back. Like a summer was gonna fix it all.

Like this summer would mean that I've made it. Like tomorrow, I'm not gonna have to wake up at seven--seven! In the summer! Fucking hell!--and head down to the basement to work out in the Hirsches' mini-gym. Because nothing is set, nothing is promised. Every day is a brand new fight.

Tomorrow, my arm could blow out. Or my knee could give or the ligaments rip or a thousand other things.

But tomorrow, I'd still be the guy who pitched Stoneybrook High to its first state baseball title. I'd still be the guy who had a 0.31 ERA and set a state record for scoreless innings pitched. I'd still be the MVP of the playoffs, all of it. And I know that doesn't matter, or it shouldn't, but it does to me. I was watching film of myself from when I was in short pants, I have worked my ass off to get here. I mean, I can be the best boyfriend in the world or the best brother in the world, the best son, and bad shit still happens to Annie and Hunt and my parents still have Loud Talks. And sometimes, no matter how hard I work out, we'll lose.

But not last night. Last night, it all worked out, and I'll always have that.

And it was pretty fucking sweet, y'all.

I don't know what to say. I've written and erased something here about a thousand times.

The second time that Annie--tried, I couldn't write in this for days. I couldn't sleep, I was having trouble eating, but I couldn't write it down. It's like that. I can't remember when I stopped closing my eyes and saw her dead, I don't know how long it took.

I close my eyes, and I see Huntie on the floor, shuddering like he was being electrocuted. But what's worse than that is the times I close my eyes, and he's on the floor and he's not moving. The more I read about lupus, the more I see that. How horrible am I to rather see him like he was last night because if I don't, I see him--

I thought it would be better to know what was wrong with Hunt. I thought it would help.

I don't know what to think anymore.

On one hand, Pete was one of my first friends here in Stoneybrook. We don't talk much anymore because I'm, ya know, busy with sports and then just getting shit done and we don't hang in the same circle, I know that if I was ever in a jam, I could turn to him. He knows my family, my fam knows him.

On the other, Melissa's been nothing but nice and helpful since I got elected Senator: she's--uh, quirky, but she's fucking awesome at her job.

Pete bitches about how the Council doesn't care. A lot. It's fucking annoying to hear how he's told someone else how he's the only person who cares, when, you know, not only have I been busting ass on top of three varsity sports and having pneumonia and--well, yeah, and when everybody with eyes knows how hard Annie works--I don't know. It's a dick thing to say. And untrue. And I'm pretty much over him pulling that crap.

Melissa's really quirky when she's not working. To the point of "what the fuck" sometimes.

Pete hasn't really created any programming: Melissa has.

Melissa's never led a Council: Pete has.

The move Pete pulled with punching Bruce still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. And Annie doesn't know if he's trustworthy. I guess I don't know, either. Fuck it, I just need to talk to him about it, because it's pretty bad when you don't know if you can trust someone anymore. Maybe today--well, no, not today, I gotta work today. Gross.

I don't know Melissa at all.

Pete's been a dick and a martyr. Melissa's a spaz. Pete's been doing a good job now for four years. Melissa kicks serious ass at hers.

Who do I vote for? Who do I support? I'm not naive, I know that if I say, "Vote for Pete" or "Vote for Liss" people will listen to me. Some people--but people who other people listen to. I knock over a shitload of dominoes. I think I'm gonna tell Melissa that I need time to think; I just wish I knew what to think.

Or who.