Electric Orange Summer

The orange hair dye had been Maya's rebellion against her mother's "professional appearance" lecture. Three weeks later, the vibrant orange curls had faded to a weird coppery shade that made her look like she'd been swimming in a pool too long. She pulled her dad's old baseball cap low over her forehead anyway, the brim curved just right because she'd spent hours perfecting it.

"You going to the game tonight?" Liam asked, leaning against her locker. He had that effortless thing going on—fitted tee, hair that actually looked good messy, the kind of guy who'd never have to worry about fitting in.

Maya shrugged. "Maybe. If I finish this chem assignment."

She'd definitely finish the chem assignment. She'd also definitely be at the game, sitting in her usual spot behind the backstop with an orange soda from the concession stand because it was her thing now. Identity through snacks, or whatever.

The baseball field buzzed with end-of-school-year energy. Someone's phone speakers blasted mumble rap from the bleachers. The air smelled like cut grass and teenage sweat and that metallic tang before a storm. Maya cracked her orange soda open and watched Liam take the mound, his pitching motion smooth like he'd been doing it since birth.

First pitch. Strike. The crowd roared.

Second pitch. Ball.

Third pitch—lightning split the sky overhead, so bright it left spots in Maya's vision. The umpire called for a delay as the first fat drops of rain splatted against the dirt.

"Nice hat," someone said behind her.

Maya turned. It was a freshman she'd seen around but never talked to. Skateboard, constantly chipped nail polish, kind of intense vibe. "Vintage?"

"My dad's," Maya said, surprised. "From like, the nineties."

"Sick." The freshman held out her hand. "I'm Riley. That hair color is actually doing something for you."

Maya laughed. "It's doing something, that's for sure. Mostly fading to sad copper."

"Copper's underrated," Riley said, and the way she said it made Maya believe her. "Wanna split to the dugout? Less likely to get drenched."

They ran through the suddenly torrential rain, Maya's orange soda abandoned on the bleachers. The baseball team scattered toward the locker room, but Maya and Riley squeezed into the tiny equipment shed, shoulder to shoulder in the dark.

"So," Riley said, her face illuminated by another flash of lightning outside. "You come here often?"

Maya laughed. "Did you just—"

"I had to. It was right there." Riley grinned. "You're the girl with the orange soda every game. I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Why?"

Riley's smile softened. "Because you wear your dad's old baseball hat to every game but you never watch the actual baseball. You draw in this beat-up notebook instead. I've been curious what you're drawing."

The rain drummed against the tin roof. Lightning flashed again and again, a private light show. For once, Maya didn't adjust her hat or worry about her hair or wonder if she was performing normal teenager correctly.

"Comics," she said. "I draw comics. About girls with orange hair who save the world."

Riley's eyes lit up. "No way. I write stories. About girls who save the world."

Maya's heart did this stupid flutter thing. "We should collaborate."

"We should," Riley agreed. "Starting tomorrow. I'll buy you a new orange soda."

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, everything was about to change.