No Cap

The chlorine hit me first—that sharp, chemical smell that instantly announced I was somewhere I wasn't supposed to be. Somewhere my dad would lose his mind about if he knew.

I'd been running for twenty minutes straight, ditching baseball practice (again) because I just couldn't stand in the outfield one more day pretending to care about catching fly balls. The baseball cap pulled low over my eyes was my shield, my disguise, my I-totally-belong-here costume.

The pool behind the rec center was basically empty, except for Maya. She was doing laps with this smooth, effortless rhythm that made me stop and just watch. Her arms cut through the water like it was nothing.

"You're dripping," she said, not looking up from her last lap.

I looked down. Sweat. Running in ninety-degree heat will do that. "Yeah."

"You're the new kid, right? The one everyone says plays baseball like a pro."

My stomach twisted. Everyone thought I was some athlete, but that was just my dad's projection. "I mean, I play."

She pulled herself out of the water, and I quickly averted my eyes because wow. "Cool. I run track. You should join. You've got the build for it."

"I—what?"

"Track. Running. You're literally always running somewhere. I see you."

I laughed nervously. "I'm not that good."

"That's not what I heard." She grinned. "Hey, you coming to Jordan's party tonight?"

"Maybe." I adjusted my hat, feeling suddenly exposed.

"You should. It's at the community pool. Night swim." She grabbed her towel. "Just be yourself, new kid. No cap needed."

She walked away, and I stood there, sweat drying on my skin, heart pounding like I'd just finished a marathon. I pulled off my baseball cap and let the sun hit my hair for the first time all summer.

Maybe some things were worth running toward instead of away from.