Fox in the Outfield

The summer before sophomore year, I spent way too much time overthinking everything. Especially baseball practice. Especially when Maya was watching from the bleachers.

"You're staring again," whispered Ravi, tossing me a Gatorade. "It's creepy, bro."

"I'm not staring. I'm... observing."

"Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

I was up at bat, trying to look casual and failing spectacularly. Coach Miller yelled something about keeping my eye on the ball, but my brain was somewhere else entirely. Then came the crack of the bat—mine—and I was sprinting toward first base like a startled deer.

Safe. By an inch.

"Nice run, Fox!" someone called out. Stupid nickname, born from my last name (Foster) and an unfortunate incident in seventh grade when I'd literally frozen in front of the whole school during a presentation. A fox freezes when caught in headlights, right? Whatever.

That evening, a storm rolled in. I was in my room, failing to focus on homework while my dad's ancient beagle, Buster, snored on my bed. The cable was out AGAIN—third time this week—so no distractions there except the lightning flashing through my window like nature's glitchy WiFi.

Then my phone buzzed.

Maya: hey so u looked pretty cool at practice today

Me: haha thanks i was trying not to faceplant

Maya: lol anyway ravi said u like anime

Me:... who told u that

Maya: ravi. also i saw ur attack on titan shirt last week

I stared at my screen. The storm outside mirrored the chaos in my head. A year ago, I would've denied it. Too embarrassing. Too weird.

But then Buster lifted his head, thumped his tail against my mattress, and looked at me like I was being an idiot.

Me: yeah it's pretty good. u ever watch it?

Maya: OMG yes

What followed was three hours of me forgetting to be self-conscious. We messaged through the storm, through the cable company's automated hold music, through my dad shouting at the TV that wouldn't work.

The next day at practice, I struck out twice. But when I looked up at the bleachers, Maya was there. She caught my eye and did this little wave thing that was probably meant to be ironic but made my stomach do gymnastics anyway.

"You're welcome," Ravi said later, smirking. "Just don't make it weird."

"Shut up, man."

"Seriously though, Fox?" He grinned. "I think you're finally playing the right game."