Palm Sweats and Curveballs

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she could practically water plants with them. Which was ironic, considering she was currently gripping a baseball bat like it might explode at any moment.

"You're up, Baker!" Coach yelled, and Maya's stomach did that thing where it forgot how to be a stomach.

This was all Jason's fault. Jason, with his stupid perfect hair and his, "Hey, you should come to open tryouts, it'll be fun" — fun for who? The people spectating? Because she was definitely going to be entertainment.

She stepped up to the plate, knees trembling like a newborn deer. The pitcher wound up and unleashed a fastball that Maya definitely, absolutely did not see coming. It hit her mitt with a sound like getting slapped by reality itself.

"Strike one!"

Behind the fence, Jason was grinning. That grin. The one that made her forget how to speak English sometimes.

Second pitch. Maya swung so hard she practically spun herself into another dimension. Missed by approximately three feet.

"Strike two!"

Her palms were now officially sweating enough to fill a small lake. She wiped them on her jeans, leaving dark streaks like evidence of her crimes.

Then it happened — her body chose NOW to remember that lunch had included a spinach salad. A spinach leaf, determined and defiant, chose this exact moment to lodge itself between her front teeth. She could feel it there. A green betrayal. A vegetable-shaped middle finger from the universe.

Third pitch coming. Ball curved toward her like it was greeting an old friend. She swung —

*CRACK.*

The ball sailed into the outfield. And kept going. And kept going. Over the fence. Into the parking lot. Maya stood there, mouth open, spinach leaf fully visible to everyone including Jason, who was now yelling something that sounded like words but felt like victory.

Afterward, Jason found her sitting on the bench, drinking an orange Gatorade like her life depended on it.

"That was... actually kind of epic," he said, dropping beside her. "And you have something in your teeth."

Maya died inside.

"It's spinach," she mumbled. "Because of course it is."

Jason laughed, and it was this warm thing that settled in her chest like a vitamin her body didn't know it needed.

"I've got gum," he said. "And your hands are shaking."

"Yeah, well. First time hitting a home run. Kind of a lot."

"First time?" Jason raised an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me, Baker."

He handed her a piece of gum. Their fingers brushed, and Maya's palms finally, finally stopped sweating.

Maybe baseball wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to her.

Maybe spinach was just doing its job.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd been overthinking everything for way too long.