Orange Stains & Swipe Rights

Maya's iphone buzzed in her back pocket, AGAIN. She ignored it—probably another perfectly filtered photo from the beach party she'd bailed on. Instead, she was here: sitting on the cold metal bleachers of Hawkins Field, watching Jake Torres crush batting practice like his future depended on it.

"You coming or what?" Jake called out, gesturing to the chain-link fence. His orange practice jersey was blinding under the stadium lights, clashing with everything but somehow working anyway. That was Jake—chaotic energy, zero impulse control, the kind of boy who'd try to catch a baseball with his bare hands because "gloves are for cowards."

Maya hesitated. Her sneakers gripped the concrete like they'd been superglued there. Two weeks ago, she'd been the one with the perfect Instagram feed, the curated squad, the aesthetic that said "I have my life together." Now? Now she was the girl who'd ghosted everyone after That Thing happened at Skylar's party.

The orange soda in her hand had gone warm. Condensation slicked her palm. She'd bought it as an excuse to linger near the concession stand, avoiding the inevitable walk down to the field.

"Earth to Maya!" Jake's voice cut through her spiraling. He was jogging over now, all long limbs and reckless confidence. "I need a second opinion on my swing. Also, you've been staring at that fence like it personally offended you."

"It's the fence, Jake. It's got issues."

"Solid analysis." He leaned against the chain-link, ridiculously close. His orange jersey smelled like sun-warmed cotton and something distinctly Jake—maybe Old Spice and bad decisions. "So? You gonna help me or what?"

Maya's iphone lit up with another notification. Someone from her old squad, probably asking where she was, why she'd been MIA, why everything had suddenly gone wrong.

She didn't check.

Instead, she downed the rest of her warm orange soda in one defiant gulp, crumpled the can, and shoved it into her pocket. Then she stood up.

"Fine," she said, stepping toward the field. "But if you break a finger, don't come crying to me."

Jake's grin was blinding. "Deal. Now let's see if you can actually throw, or if I'm gonna have to teach you everything."

The baseball game wasn't perfect. Her form was trash, Jake kept making terrible jokes, and somehow they both ended up with orange stains all over their clothes. But for the first time in weeks, Maya didn't check her phone once.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.