Beneath the Surface

The baseball sailed over the fence—again.

"Dude, you were supposed to CATCH it, not launch it into orbit," Marcus laughed, shoving my shoulder playfully. "My bad." The lie burned my throat. I'd been so busy checking if Chloe was watching from the bleachers that I'd completely whiffed.

Chloe, who was definitely not watching. She was scrolling through her phone, probably texting some college guy who actually knew how to talk to girls without sounding like a malfunctioning GPS.

"Yo, Jake!" Marcus pointed toward the dugout. "Your dog's going crazy again."

Buster, my ancient golden retriever, had managed to nose his way onto the field. Again. He wasn't chasing anything—just standing there near the pitcher's mound, tail going a mile a minute, staring toward the equipment shed like he'd seen a ghost.

"Buster, come!" I jogged over, face heating up. Perfect. Now I was the kid who couldn't catch AND couldn't control his dog. What's next? Would my mom show up with my forgotten lunchbox?

But Buster wouldn't budge. He just kept whining at the shed door.

"Let him check it out," Chloe said from behind me. I spun around. She'd actually come down from the bleachers. Up close, I could see the tiny freckles on her nose and the way she kept pushing hair behind her ear when she was nervous. OR maybe that was just a habit. Stop overanalyzing, Jake.

The shed door creaked when I pushed it. Buster rushed in—straight toward a rusted pipe in the corner that was spraying water everywhere. Someone must have left a valve open.

"Whoa." Marcus appeared beside me. "How long has that been happening?"

"All afternoon," the janitor said, appearing from nowhere with a mop bucket. "Old building's pipes are shot. Can't get maintenance out till Monday."

"I got it," I found myself saying. Why did I say that? I knew nothing about pipes. But Chloe was watching now, really watching, and the lie had already left the station.

The valve was stuck. Rust had practically welded it shut. My hands slipped. Water sprayed everywhere, soaking my jersey. Marcus howled. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

Then Chloe stepped in. She didn't say anything. Just wrapped her hands around the valve, braced her foot against the wall, and put her whole body into it. The water stopped.

"My grandpa's a plumber," she said, wringing out her sleeves. "You were trying though. That's cute."

Cute. She'd called me cute. While I was literally dripping wet.

Buster chose that moment to shake himself off, spraying water all three of us. Chloe laughed—a real laugh, head tilted back, not holding anything back. And I found myself laughing too, actually laughing, not performing or trying to be someone I wasn't.

"We should probably finish the game," Marcus said eventually, but he was grinning.

"Actually," Chloe said, looking at me, "I was thinking maybe we could grab water after? You know, to celebrate Jake almost flooding the school."

"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that."

Buster leaned against my leg, tail thumping. Sometimes the best plays aren't the ones you plan.