Concessions and Consequences

Maya was watching. That was the problem.

The concession stand at the municipal baseball stadium wasn't exactly where sixteen-year-old Leo imagined spending his Saturday afternoon, but his mom had insisted he get a summer job. Now here he was, wearing a polyester uniform that smelled like vinegar and fryer grease, while Maya—the girl who'd sat behind him in algebra since September—lounged in the bleachers with her friends, probably laughing at how he spilled the drink orders.

"Number 23!" someone hollered.

Leo grabbed the plastic cup, filled it with ice and water from the dispenser. The machine groaned like a dying cat. He handed it to the middle-aged guy who'd ordered it, then turned back to his own crisis: the salad he'd made himself during his break. Spinach leaves. Dried cranberries. Feta cheese. A sophisticated choice, or so he'd thought, until he'd caught his reflection in the napkin dispenser.

Something green was stuck between his front teeth.

He'd been trying to dislodge it with his tongue for twenty minutes. Every time he thought he'd succeeded, he'd check again, and it would still be there, mocking him, a tiny emerald flag of social death.

"Hey!" A guy leaned over the counter. Leo's stomach dropped. It was Tyler, Maya's ex-boyfriend, the varsity shortstop who'd hit three home runs this season. "Can I get an orange soda?"

Leo nodded, grateful his voice didn't crack. He filled the cup, the carbonated liquid hissing as it hit the ice. Tyler paid, tipped him a whole dollar—generous for someone their age—and walked back toward the field, where the baseball game was entering the seventh inning.

Leo's phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from his best friend, Jamal: *dude maya keeps looking at you*

His face burned. He considered texting back: *she's probably laughing at the spinach situation*, but typing that felt like admitting defeat. Instead, he swallowed his pride along with the shame, picked up his salad fork, and finished eating. The spinach, at least, was delicious—earthy and crisp, everything that wasn't his current existence.

The game ended two innings later. Leo was wiping down the counter when someone approached.

"Hey."

His heart did that stupid fluttery thing. Maya.

"Hey," he managed, trying to look casual. He resisted the urge to cover his mouth with his hand.

"Good game today," she said. "You were on fire with those drink orders."

He laughed before he could stop himself. "Yeah, truly my athletic peak."

She smiled, and something in his chest twisted. "I'm serious. My cousin works at the ice cream stand, and she says it's chaos back there. You handled it like a pro."

"Thanks." He leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling braver. "Hey, Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"I, um." He gestured vaguely at his face. "There's been something in my teeth for like an hour, hasn't there?"

Her grin widened. "Since the third inning. But I figured you'd notice eventually."

He groaned, covering his face with both hands. "That's it. My social life is over."

"Nah." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a mint, sliding it across the counter to him. "Happens to everyone. Plus, I'm still going to ask if you want to hang out tomorrow."

His head snapped up. "Really?"

"Really." She pointed at the remaining spinach leaves in his salad container. "Anyone who eats spinach voluntarily at a baseball game has to be interesting."

Leo grinned, finally, popping the mint into his mouth. The concession stand still smelled like fryer grease, his uniform was still polyester, and he'd just spent three hours with green stuff in his teeth. But somehow, none of that mattered anymore.

"Tomorrow," he said. "It's a date."