Orange Crush at the Plate

Maya's palms were sweating — like, actually dripping — as she stood behind the concession stand counter. The Orange Crush soda machine hissed beside her, mockingly.

"You good?" Marcus asked, leaning against the counter in his faded baseball cap. The one he'd worn every day since freshman year. The one that made his dark curls peek out just right.

"Totally," Maya lied. Her voice cracked. Smooth.

He gestured at the orange soda. "Can I get one of those?"

"You always get those."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "Tradition."

Tradition. Right. Every Friday night since school started, Marcus came to the baseball games, even though he didn't play. Every Friday, Maya worked the stand. Every Friday, she imagined saying something actually interesting. Every Friday, she failed.

Outside, the game roared. Someone hit a home run. The crowd went wild.

"You ever gonna come watch?" Marcus asked. "Instead of just listening?"

"I hate baseball."

"Liar."

Maya grabbed a cup. "It's boring. It's just —" She gestured vaguely. "Standing around. Waiting."

"That's not baseball. That's high school."

She paused. "Okay, that's actually kind of deep."

"I have my moments." His phone buzzed. He checked it, frowned. "Hey, you good to close up? I gotta bounce."

Her stomach dropped. "Yeah. Sure."

"But save me an Orange Crush? For next Friday?"

Maya's heart did that stupid thing where it felt too big for her chest. "You assume there's gonna be a next Friday?"

Marcus grinned. And then — because the universe had terrible timing — he reached across the counter and high-fived her. His palm was warm and slightly callused from guitar practice.

"See you, Maya."

She watched him walk away, orange soda cup in hand, and realized something terrifying: She was gonna actually have to talk to him next week. Like, for real.

Her phone buzzed. Best friend Jaden: DID YOU JUST HIGH-FIVE MARCUS???

Maya typed back: SHUT UP I HATE EVERYTHING

Outside, the baseball game ended. The concession lights flickered. And Maya stood there, palms sweating again, grinning like an idiot, already planning what she'd wear next Friday.