Once Upon A One Night Mistake

Chapter 1: The Thin Line Between Love and Hate

Taliana Avilla knew she loved Sebastian Phillips from the moment he dropped an ice cream cone on her lap back in preschool. Of course, she never told him that. No, she just picked up the cold vanilla scoop and thrust it in his face instead. He had cried, and she had screamed that he was a poop head.

In kindergarten, he’d stolen her favorite Barbie doll and cut off all its hair. She retaliated by cutting his hair during naptime.

By first grade it was full-on war. He had pushed her off the monkey bars, causing her to fall and scrape her knees. The next day she “accidentally” slammed his forehead into the flagpole. He had a bruise for at least two weeks.

Second grade was the year of rumors and secrets. Sebastian had spread a particularly vicious one about how she still slept with a teddy bear, like a baby. Taliana returned the favor by telling everyone Sebastian wet his pants when he was nervous. She even proved it by pouring a glass of lemonade on his crotch during snack time when no one was looking.

But it was then that Taliana began to question her love for him. Was it really love she felt? Or was it just an overwhelming amount of hate that felt like love? Whatever it was, it was definitely too hard for a seven-year-old to figure out.

Third grade was more of the same. Whispering, spreading rumors only children could think of, and laughing at the other's misfortune whenever the opportunity arose.

By fourth grade, they had reverted to their ways of violence. In a brief attempt to be civil, they had played a game of Monopoly together during free time over the span of a week. She had won, of course, and he’d thrown the board and his game piece at her head. To this day, she still had a slight scar near her hairline where that damn metal dog had cut her. She had wasted no time getting him back, though. The next week during a game of Twister, she kicked him in a particularly sensitive place, causing him to cry harder than she'd ever thought possible.

Fifth grade wasn’t too different, except that the rivalry had grown. By the end of that year, Taliana had lost track of how many times he’d pushed her down on the blacktop, accused her of cheating on tests, or closed a door on her fingers. She hadn’t been an angel either with all the pencil stabbing, targeted tripping, and book slapping, but she considered her moves to be a bit more honorable.

As usual, the much-needed break from each other came during the summer, but when the start of sixth grade rolled around, it was wartime once again. And it was bound to be the battle to end them all.

“Come on, Stick Girl! You’re up!”

Taliana glared at the makeshift umpire behind home plate as she strode toward the batter’s box. He’d been calling her that stupid nickname since second grade and, unfortunately, he didn't seem to want to give it up.

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled.

To be honest, she could understand why he and all the other kids called her that. At eleven years old, she was already tall and lanky, all sharp elbows and knees with the grace of a baby giraffe learning how to walk. All the other girls at Georgetown Trinity were so pretty and posh, just like one would expect to find at one of Washington, DC’s finest preparatory schools, but Taliana had never fit in with them. Maybe one day, she thought, I'll finally look like all the others.

“Hurry up! Can’t those twig legs carry you any faster?”

Taliana scowled, sick of the name calling. “Shut up, Sebastian,” she snapped, louder that time.

The umpire, her sworn enemy since preschool, rolled his eyes. “Just move. You’re dragging out our game. I don’t know why we even let you play.”

She pressed her lips together to avoid the argument, knowing it would only get her kicked out of the game, and approached the plate. After picking up the bat lying in the dirt by her feet, she swung it around for a moment to get a feel for its weight, then raised her elbows and pulled her hands back until she could practically brush her ear. A bat in her hands made her feel almost invincible, even if she wasn’t. Softball was her favorite sport—the only sport she was halfway decent at, really—and she was there to remind all the boys just why they let her play.

The only problem with playing in the boys’ recess game was that her normal female teammates were nowhere in sight. Instead, there were boys who’d been playing baseball for just as long as she’d been playing softball, and they weren't about to take it easy on her just because she was a girl. These recess games were brutal, and most people walked away with more cuts and bruises than was strictly necessary. She couldn’t exactly blame the other girls for wanting to stay out of it.

The pitcher smirked, silently taunting her from the mound. She tried not to let it get to her, but Michael Richardson—one of Sebastian’s best friends—never failed to intimidate her.

Within an instant, the ball was flying in her direction, and from the looks of it, it was on a path to hit her. Instinctively, she jumped back, and the large neon-green ball narrowly missed her shoulder.

“Strike one!”

Taliana’s jaw dropped as she turned to look at the smirking umpire. “Are you serious? That wasn’t even close to being a strike! It almost hit me!”

“But it didn’t,” Sebastian replied smugly. “And it’s not like Michael did it on purpose.” He shifted his gaze to the grinning pitcher. “Isn’t that right, Michael?”

“Right,” Michael called back. “I’d never try to hurt poor little Stick Girl.”

“But if it almost hit me that means it wasn’t even in the strike zone!”

Sebastian shrugged. “I’m the umpire. Deal with it.”

Taliana shook her head in disgust, looking back at the ground. “Whatever.”

The catcher gave her a sympathetic glance as he tossed the ball to Michael and returned to squatting behind home plate. With a heavy exhale, Taliana brought the bat up again and stared narrow-eyed at the pitcher, daring him to pull the same stunt again. Michael cocked an eyebrow before releasing the ball, letting it travel in its almost perfect path.

Taliana couldn’t help but watch with satisfaction as the pitch went wide and missed the plate by a few inches.

“Strike two!”

Shock and anger hit hard as she spun around to face Sebastian again. “What? It wasn’t close!”

“What I say goes, Stick Girl.” Sebastian looked down at the boy still crouching with the softball in his hand. “Throw the ball back, Marcus. This game is taking too long.”

The catcher let out a soft sigh and tossed the ball back to Michael, who was once again brimming with glee. Glaring, Taliana waited for the next pitch to come. Her grip on the bat was tighter than it should have been, and her stance was off as well; she would have been surprised if she could even swing the stupid bat at that point. But when the time came to do so, there wasn't any need. The pitch had come in a foot over her head.

She grinned as she dropped the bat to her side and turned to face Sebastian, who didn't look too pleased about the situation.

“Don’t even think about calling that a strike.”

When the boy’s dark blue eyes narrowed, Taliana knew she shouldn't have opened her mouth.

“Strike three,” he drawled, his sneer turning into a satisfied smirk. “You’re out.”

For a moment, all she could do was gape at him. “No way!” she shouted upon finding her voice again. “It was above my head, you idiot!”

Sebastian took a step closer. “No, it wasn’t. Anybody will tell you that.”

She placed her hands on her narrow hips. “I’d like to see that happen.”

“Fine.” He lifted his gaze to the first baseman, who was staring dazedly off into space. “Jacob!”

The boy snapped to attention, eyes wide. “Yeah?”

“You saw that pitch, right?”

Jacob nodded, head bouncing like a bobble-head doll. “Uh huh.”

“What do you think it was? Ball or a strike?”

The boy paused for a long while. “Uh...a strike?”