Fox in the Outfield

The baseball uniform hung off my shoulders like a tent—great for hiding, terrible for feeling like a badass. Freshman year, and I'd already convinced myself I'd be riding the pine all season. Which was fine. Totally fine. If you counted the number of times I'd practiced my 'casually checking my phone like I don't care I'm not playing' move, you'd think I was preparing for a varsity sport called Social Anxiety.

Then I saw her—the fox jacket, flame-orange and impossible to ignore, standing near the concession stand with that effortless cool that made my stomach do that thing where it forgets how to be an organ. Autumn. She'd moved here in October, somehow already had a squad, and I'd spent exactly zero minutes not thinking about her.

'Dude, you're staring,' whispered Tyler, who'd apparently developed a supernatural ability to appear at my elbow exactly when I needed him to not.

'I am not staring,'

'You are literally staring at her like a bear that's forgotten how to bear.'

'That's not a thing.'

'It is now.' He grinned like he'd just invented language. 'So are you gonna talk to her, or are we gonna stand here being the backup backup outfielders?'

Before I could process the fact that my brain had suddenly become 15% panic and 85% poor life choices, Autumn turned. Our eyes caught. She smiled—that tiny, knowing half-smile that either meant 'I see you' or 'I see you and I'm amused by your entire existence.'

Then she walked over.

'Hey,' she said, all casual, like she hadn't just hijacked my nervous system. 'You're Marcus, right? You play outfield?'

My throat may have temporarily ceased functioning. 'Uh. Yeah. Sometimes. When coach isn't testing his blood pressure watching me attempt athletic things.'

She laughed—actually laughed—and my cat Pearl would be horrified by how whipped I already was. 'I heard you made this insane catch last week at practice. My brother was there. Said you literally climbed the fence like a feral woodland creature and robbed a home run.'

'I—what?'

'A feral woodland creature with commitment issues, apparently.' She was teasing me. This was happening. 'Anyway, I'm trying out for the team's social media manager. You down to help me with some content after school? I need someone who knows the game.'

'The game,' I repeated, because eloquence was clearly my superpower today. 'Baseball. Yes. I know baseball things. Many things. So many things.'

Tyler groaned. 'I can literally feel the secondhand embarrassment from here.'

But Autumn was still smiling. 'Cool. See you tomorrow then, feral woodland creature.'

She walked away, orange jacket bright against the gray bleachers, and I realized with sudden, terrifying clarity that freshman year wasn't going to be the year I faded into the background after all.

'Dude,' Tyler said, shaking his head. 'You're so screwed.'

'Yeah,' I said, watching her disappear into the crowd. 'Yeah, I am.'

And for the first time all season, I didn't even care about the pine.