Logan Traitor. It’s what I expect someone to mumble as they walk by, but we’re in Louisville and the odds of me running into anyone from Bullitt County High School are low. The waitress smiles at me when she refills my water and our eyes meet. She’s pretty. Maybe a year or two older than me. Her hair is long, but Abby’s is longer. Her eyes are brown, but Abby’s are darker. Thinking of Abby causes me to consider asking this girl out. The waitress wouldn’t be the first college girl I’ve dated and she wouldn’t be the first girl I’ve taken out because I’ve got Abby on the brain. I wink, the waitress blushes, my mother nudges my arm in approval. We’re at Applebee’s. All three TVs over the bar show the Reds game, and thanks to the last home run, the people in the stands are going wild. It’s crowded here, most places in Louisville are, yet my glass has never been empty. Yeah, the waitress is interested, but I’m not sure if I am. On my left, my father tilts his head toward the guy who’s smiling like a Cheshire cat. If I should so choose, this guy could be my new baseball coach, and me flirting with a girl has to be a hell of a lot less awkward and more normal for him