Center Field Secrets

The baseball dugout smelled like sweaty teenagers and bubblegum ambition. I slumped on the bench, my palms so slick I could barely grip my phone. Not that I needed to grip it — I was too busy staring at it like an idiot.

"You good, man?" Marcus whispered, bumping my shoulder with his. "You look like you're about to puke."

"Yeah. Fine." I shoving my phone deeper into my pocket. "Just... nervous about the game."

Liar. I wasn't nervous about baseball. I'd been playing center field since freshman year, my glove basically glued to my hand. What I was nervous about was what I'd seen earlier.

What I'd been *spying* on all week like some total creep.

Coach blew his whistle. "Alright, ladies! Let's get our heads in the game! Regional finals in THREE DAYS!"

Three days. That's how long I had before my entire social life imploded.

See, here's the thing. I'd accidentally stumbled upon Hannah's Instagram stories last Tuesday — the ones she'd tagged only her besties in. Except somehow I could see them. And in them, she was practicing for the regional cheer competition. With *Marcus's* ex-girlfriend. Which meant Hannah and Marcus had been talking. Behind my back. Probably talking about ME.

I felt like the world's worst person. Who spy on their girlfriend's private stories? Who even DOES that? But the curiosity had eaten me alive, and now I was drowning in it.

"Yo, earth to Alex!" Marcus waved his hand in my face. "Coach wants you in right field today. Said he's testing the lineup."

My stomach did something illegal. Right field. That's where Hannah sat during games, right behind the fence. Where she and her friends could literally whisper about me while I stood ten feet away.

I jogged to my position, palms sweating through my fielding glove. The grass felt familiar under my cleats, but everything else felt wrong. Like I'd stepped into some alternate dimension where my girlfriend was secretly plotting with my best friend and I was the clueless protagonist in a teen drama.

A ball cracked off a bat — high, deep, soaring toward right field. I tracked it, my body moving on autopilot. Stick your arm out. Extend. The ball settled into my pocket like it belonged there. Easy. Natural. Some things still made sense.

"Nice catch, Alex!" Hannah yelled from the fence.

I turned around, ready to fake a smile. She was grinning, bouncing on her toes. Next to her, Marcus's ex was holding up a sign I hadn't noticed before:

GOOD LUCK ALEX! WE KNOW YOU CAN DO IT!

The sign was covered in glitter. In team colors. With little baseballs drawn in the corners.

My brain short-circuited.

"Surprise!" Hannah screamed, practically climbing over the fence. "We've been working on this ALL WEEK! Marcus's ex is helping me with the glitter situation because apparently I'm 'craft-challenged' whatever THAT means!"

Marcus jogged over from the infield, laughing his head off. "Dude, you should see your face right now. You look like you saw a ghost."

"I thought..." I stammered, my face burning. "I thought you were talking about me. Behind my back."

Hannah's expression softened. "Alex. Babe. The only thing we've been talking about is how to surprise you for regionals. Why would you think—" She stopped. "Wait. Have you been... worried? About us?"

The dugout went quiet. Twenty baseball players, all suddenly very interested in their shoelaces.

"Maybe," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "I might have... seen something. On Instagram. And maybe I freaked out a little."

A pause. Then Hannah started laughing. Not mean laughter — the real kind, the kind that makes your nose crinkle.

"You idiot," she said, fondness dripping from every syllable. "I tagged you in those stories. You just never check your notifications."

I pulled out my phone. Sure enough. A little red bubble I'd missed in my paranoia spiral.

"My bad," I said, a smile finally breaking through.

"Your bad is right," Coach bellowed from the dugout. "Less romance, more baseball! Marcus, get in the box! Alex, stop smiling at your girlfriend and pay attention!"

I adjusted my glove, my palms finally dry. Some things I had to learn the hard way. Like how to trust people. Or how to check my notifications. Or how sometimes, the only spy in your life is your own brain, making up problems that don't even exist.

The crack of the bat echoed across the field. I settled into my stance, ready. This, I knew how to do. The rest? Well. I was working on it.