Bear Suit Summer

The bear suit smelled like every middle school PE class ever combined into one polyester nightmare. I zipped it up over my cutoffs and already regretted everything.

"You owe me SO HARD," I texted Maya from the concession stand bathroom. "Like, you owe me your actual soul."

"bff! ❤️" she replied, which is teenage girl code for "I'm avoiding this because I have social anxiety and you're a better friend than me."

The baseball game was already in the fourth inning when I waddled onto the field. Our school team was losing 0-7, and the energy was approximately that of a funeral. This was supposed to be Maya's job – she'd signed up to be the bear mascot for the season because she thought it would look good on her college applications. But when she found out she had to actually perform in front of people, she ghosted.

"HEY EVERYBODY!" I shouted through the bear head, my voice sounding muffled and ridiculous. "WHO'S READY FOR SOME BASEBALL?!"

Three people clapped. One of them was my mom. I wanted to die.

But then something weird happened. The bear head gave me this bizarre confidence. Like, nobody could see me blushing. Nobody knew it was me, the quiet sophomore who sat in the back of English class and overthought every text message. Inside this hot, smelly bear suit, I could be whoever I wanted.

I started dancing. Not like, cool dancing – more like "your uncle at a wedding" dancing, but with more arm flailing. I did the Macarena. I did the worm (poorly). I chased after foul balls like they were my mortal enemies.

People were laughing. Actually laughing, not like, mean laughing. Even the baseball players were cracking up. The energy shifted. The other team's pitcher got distracted by my bear moves and walked two batters in a row.

"That bear is unhinged," I heard someone say. "Legend."

By the seventh inning, I had a whole crew of elementary school kids following me around like I was some kind of furry pied piper. We did a conga line behind home plate. The umpire was trying to look serious but kept failing.

Our team ended up losing 3-8, but nobody cared. After the game, people wanted high-fives with the bear. Photos. I felt electric, buzzing with this unexpected rush – the same kind I got when Maya and I stayed up too late watching movies and eating junk food, but multiplied by a thousand.

"You were AMAZING," Maya said later, when I finally escaped the bear suit behind the bleachers. Her eyes were wide. "People were literally posting about you on Instagram. The bear is iconic now."

I pulled off the bear head and sweat dripped down my face. "I was literally just doing whatever to survive up there."

"That's the thing though," she said, looking at me different. "You never just... do things. You always overthink everything. But today you just went for it. It was badass."

I laughed, feeling lighter somehow. "Yeah, well. Don't get used to it."

But walking home under the streetlights, baseball field lights still glowing behind us, I felt different. Like maybe being the kind of person who could put on a ridiculous suit and make people laugh wasn't so far from who I actually was.

"Next time though," I told Maya. "YOU'RE being the bear."

"Deal," she said. "But you have to help me with the dances."

We both laughed, and I realized that sometimes the worst ideas turn into the best stories – and that's kind of what being sixteen is all about.