Palms of Steel

Maya's palms were sweating so much she could practically water the drought-stricken lawn. Which would be impressive, if she wasn't currently standing at home plate with the entire eighth grade watching her.

"You got this, Maya!" screamed her best friend Chloe from the bleachers, where she'd somehow convinced the entire squad to spell MAYA with their arms. Talk about mortifying.

The opposing pitcher—this towering guy named Brock who looked like he'd been held back twice—glared at her like she was personally responsible for his hairline. He wound up and threw a fastball that definitely deserved to be called bull. Pure bull.

The umpire's massive arm extended sideways. "STRIKE ONE!"

Great. Now she was that girl—the one who struck out in the co-ed championship game because she was too busy having an existential crisis.

It hadn't always been like this. Last summer, Maya had been normal-ish. She'd obsessively watched baseball games with her dad, actually enjoyed running bases, and definitely didn't overthink everything. Then her parents had dragged her to Egypt, where she'd spent three weeks staring at the Sphinx like it held all the answers to her suddenly confusing life.

The Sphinx's missing nose still haunted her. Something that could just… lose part of itself and keep going? Unbothered? That was the kind of main character energy she needed.

Brock wound up again. Another fastball. Maya swung and connected—that hollow, beautiful CRACK that echoed like the universe finally cooperating.

The ball sailed toward right field, where the Sphinx from the school carnival setup stood like a weird papier-mâché guardian. The Egyptian club had built it for some cultural festival and never taken it down. Now it watched over the baseball field with one broken eye and a perpetually judgmental expression.

Maya tore toward first base, then second, her cleats digging into the dirt. Her lungs burned but her mind was suddenly, shockingly quiet. No overthinking. No sweaty palms. Just running.

"ROUND TWO! ROUND TWO!" someone shrieked. Probably Chloe.

She slid into third just as the ball arrived, dirt flying everywhere. The Sphinx seemed almost proud. Brock looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment.

Standing up, dusting off her knees, Maya caught Chloe's eye. Her friend was losing her entire mind, jumping up and down like she'd personally won the lottery.

Game tied. Bottom of the ninth. Maya on third.

And for the first time in forever, her palms were dry. She wasn't thinking about the Sphinx or the bull in the pitcher's mound or what anyone thought. She was just playing baseball.

Sometimes, she realized, you didn't need to solve the riddle. You just had to swing.