Orange Peel Summer

The orange peel landed perfectly on the windshield of Mr. Henderson's Honda Civic. A masterpiece of teenage boredom. My best friend Marcus high-fived me as we ducked behind the bleachers, our heinous crime against humanity complete.

'We are so literally cooked if he catches us,' I whispered, clutching my iphone like it was my only lifeline to dignity. The battery was at 4%, which was honestly my entire emotional state personified.

Marcus snorted. 'Chill, Leo. We're basically ninjas.' He gestured dramatically toward the baseball field where tryouts were happening. The popular kids—Jordan's squad—were stretching in their coordinated pastel uniforms. A social pyramid I'd been trying to climb since seventh grade, despite being about as athletic as a depressed sloth.

I should've been out there. That's what my dad said. 'Baseball builds character, Leo.' What it actually built: panic attacks and an elaborate system of excuses involving fictional stomach viruses.

Suddenly, the sky opened up. Not rain—lightning, actual forked lightning that cracked something fierce and made everyone scream. The jocks scattered like roaches. Marcus grabbed my arm. 'YO DID YOU SEE THAT'

But I saw something else. Jordan—actual Jordan, whose hair somehow always looked perfect in humidity—had left her bag behind. Her iphone was sitting there on the bench, completely unprotected, as the second lightning strike illuminated the entire parking lot.

Without thinking, I bolted.

'LEO WHAT ARE YOU DOING'

I snatched her phone, dodged a puddle, and sprinted back to the bleachers, my heart hammering like I'd just stolen something from the government. The rain started dumping as I shoved it into my backpack, my hands shaking so bad I almost dropped it.

We ended up at my house, both of us soaking wet and buzzing with adrenaline. Marcus stared at me like I'd grown a second head.

'You just saved Jordan Miller's iphone,' he said. 'From a storm. You're literally in a romance novel right now.'

I peeled an orange from the kitchen counter, my fingers still trembling. 'I just didn't want it to get fried, bro.'

'Mmhmm. Sure.' Marcus grinned. 'Tomorrow's gonna be... interesting.'

He wasn't wrong. The next day, I returned her phone. Jordan said thanks. Actually looked at me. Not through me, AT me. And that's the story of how I didn't make the baseball team but somehow, finally, started feeling like I was playing my own game.