Electric in the Outfield

Maya hated baseball. She hated how her parents made her join the team, hated the way the dirt stained her favorite jeans, and most of all, hated how Jake—aka The Jake—would look right through her in the dugout like she was invisible.

"You're running away from your feelings," her best friend Riya had said that morning, somehow diagnosing Maya's entire romantic crisis while dissecting a bagel.

Now Maya stood in right field, the position where hopes went to die. The score was tied, bottom of the ninth, and here came Jake—actual Jake, walking toward her with that half-smile that made everyone's knees weak.

"Hey," he said. "You got this."

Maya's brain short-circuited. Jake Miller had spoken TO her. Not AT her. Not AROUND her. TO her.

Then the sky went purple.

The first lightning bolt cracked somewhere beyond the left field fence—this electric-white spiderweb of light that turned the whole world into a negative photograph for half a second. Thunder rolled through her chest cavity like it was renting space.

"Everyone off the field NOW!" Coach Miller—Jake's dad—sprinted toward the dugun, his cap already flying off.

The team scrambled, equipment abandoned, cleats churning up the infield as everyone started running toward the concession stand. But Maya couldn't move. She was frozen, watching Jake who was frozen, watching her, both of them caught in this weird moment suspended between oh crap, storm and wait, did he just say I got this?

Another lightning strike—closer this time. The air tasted like ozone and impending doom.

"Come on!" Jake grabbed her hand, and his palm was sweaty and perfect and this was officially the best and worst moment of her entire life.

They ran together through the curtain of rain that had started falling like the sky was making up for lost time. By the time they reached the covered concession stand, they were soaked, everyone staring, and Jake was still holding her hand.

"Nice form out there," he said, breathless, like they'd just survived something together instead of just running from weather.

Maya couldn't help it. She laughed. "I was thinking about how much I hate baseball."

Jake's grin widened. "Same. I only play because my dad coaches."

The storm raged outside, but inside that little concession stand, Maya felt something electric that had nothing to do with the lightning flashing overhead.

"Hate it a little less now?" Jake asked.

"Maybe," she said. "Ask me after we survive this storm."

He laughed, and for the first time in her life, Maya didn't hate baseball. Not even a little bit.