Cover Story

The baseball cap was pulled low over my eyes—way too low, according to Maya. "You look like you're planning a bank robbery," she'd said earlier. Whatever. At least it covered the panic sweat.

I was officially a spy. Okay, not the cool kind with gadgets and foreign passports. The boring kind: sitting alone on the bleachers, watching baseball practice like it was the most fascinating thing on Earth, while actually stealing glances at the boy in right field.

His name was Lucas. He had this way of tugging his hat brim between pitches that made my chest feel weird. Also, he was really good at baseball, which was annoying because I knew absolutely nothing about sports. My friends were all artsy types who debated film theory and listened to indie bands. The extent of my athletic experience was that one disastrous semester of seventh-grade kickball.

"You gonna sit there every day?" A voice cut through my internal spiral. I jumped. Lucas was standing at the bottom of the bleachers, flipping his own hat backward. Like, backward. Who even did that?

"I'm just... observing," I said. Because 'observing' sounded way better than 'creeping.'

He laughed. Not in a mean way. In a way that made my face do something embarrassing. "You've been 'observing' for two weeks. You know there's actually a game happening, right?"

"I'm new to baseball."

"You're new to everything except watching." He climbed up a few rows, leaving what felt like approximately ten feet of personal space. My brain was officially malfunctioning. "I'm Lucas, by the way."

"I know," I said, then immediately wanted to die. "I mean, I've heard people call your name. During games. Which I've definitely watched parts of."

This was going so poorly.

But he just smiled, all easy confidence and perfect teeth. "Well, since you're already here, I could teach you. Baseball, I mean. Unless you're actually a spy sent by Central High's team to steal our playbook."

"That's exactly it," I said. "You've uncovered my mission."

"Cool." He stood up and adjusted his hat. "Same time tomorrow, Agent... what's your name?"

"Jordan."

"Cool. Same time tomorrow, Agent Jordan. Bring a glove. I'll teach you how to actually catch something."

As he walked away, I pulled my cap lower over my face, grinning like an idiot. Maya was right—I probably did look suspicious. But for the first time in my life, I didn't care about fitting into my old box. Some covers are worth blowing.