Palm Tree Secrets

Leo's palms were sweating. Like, literally dripping onto his phone screen. He'd been hiding behind the same palm tree for twenty minutes, feeling like a total creeper, but he couldn't help himself.

Baseball practice had ended ten minutes ago, and the team was still hanging out by the dugout. Including Jordan. Jordan, who had recently started sitting at Leo's lunch table. Jordan, who had somehow memorized Leo's coffee order (iced oat milk latte, extra ice). Jordan, who was currently laughing at something someone said, throwing her head back like she didn't have a care in the world.

Leo wasn't technically spying. Okay, maybe he was. But it wasn't weird—just, you know, observation. He was an aspiring journalist, right? This was basically research.

"You're being pathetic," he muttered to himself.

His phone buzzed. A text from his best friend, Riley: "did u talk to her yet or r u still being a coward"

Leo sighed. The problem wasn't talking to Jordan—they'd had plenty of conversations. The problem was that his stomach did actual backflips whenever she looked at him, and his palms started sweating, and his brain turned to mush. Real smooth, Leo.

He watched as Jordan bent down to pick up her backpack. Something fell out of her pocket—a small, folded piece of paper. She didn't notice. Neither did anyone else.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Leo stepped out from behind the palm tree and walked toward the field. His heart was hammering. This was either going to be romantic or absolutely humiliating.

"Hey, Jordan!" he called out, voice slightly higher than usual. Great start.

She turned, smiling. "Leo! What's up?"

"You, um, dropped this." He held out the paper.

Jordan's eyes went wide. "Oh my gosh, thank you!" She took it, then her expression shifted to something like—panic? Embarrassment? "You didn't read it, did you?"

"No, I swear. Just saw it fall."

"Good. Because it's, uh, really embarrassing. It's this poem I wrote for English, and it's terrible. Like, emotionally vulnerable terrible."

Leo's palms had stopped sweating. "I bet it's not that bad."

"Wanna bet?" Jordan laughed, but there was something nervous in it. "Maybe I'll show you sometime. If you promise not to judge."

"Deal."

"Cool." She adjusted her backpack strap. "Hey, you coming to the game Friday? We're playing Northside."

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Good." Jordan smiled, and Leo's stomach did that flip thing again. "See you there, Leo."

He watched her walk away, then looked down at his hands. His palms weren't sweating anymore. Progress.