the day i met brian hoffman 52 days until i turn 18 Bubblegum Pink is the nail polish of the day. Matt Higgins will definitely like it—he’s into all things girly-girl, so I add another coat before blowing on my nails. Tonight we’re meeting at this field party, and I fully expect we’ll make out behind a hay bale or something. Drew is lounging on my bed, reading Cosmo. “So I signed you up to be manager for my baseball team.” “What?!” Careful not to mess up my polish, I mute the TV and sit up to face him. “Why?” “I can’t stand the idea of you holed up in your room while I’m playing ball this spring. You should come to practice tomorrow morning.” He smells a perfume ad, cringes and sticks his tongue out. My heart pounds faster than light speed. I hate baseball. I know, I know. That means I’m not a true American. It probably means I’m not human. But I gave up foam fingers, peanuts, and the Atlanta Braves when my mom announced she’s a lesbian and ran off with her friend who was more than just a friend. A year ago January, she divorced my dad, and I divorced her dreams of me playing softball for Hundred Oaks. “No way,” I say, examining my nails.