Palms Sweating in Center Field

My palms were sweating so bad I could practically feel the moisture seeping through my batting gloves. Tryouts for the varsity baseball team were tomorrow, and honestly? I wasn't sure I even wanted to make the cut anymore.

"You good, man?" Marcus asked, tossing me a Gatorade. We were sitting on the bleachers behind the school, watching the sunset paint everything orange.

"Just... thinking, I guess."

The truth was, I'd kind of fallen in love with padel over the summer. My cousin in Spain got me into it, and now I couldn't stop watching tutorials on YouTube. But nobody at school even knew what padel was. If I quit baseball for some random European racquet sport, my dad would lose it. The team would roast me into next semester.

"Your dog's been staring at you for like five minutes," Marcus said, nodding toward Buster, my golden retriever, who was sprawled across the grass like he owned the place.

That's when my phone buzzed. Savannah. The girl who'd spent all of eighth grade making fun of my then-existent mullet. Now she was suddenly in my messages, wanting to hang out?

"What's that face?" Marcus grinned. "That's the 'I'm about to make a terrible decision' face."

"Shut up."

We ended up at this random party in the canyon, and okay, it sounds cheesy, but there was a literal bear. Like, an actual bear cub wandering near the trash cans. Everyone freaked, someone called animal control, and somehow I ended up hiding behind a palm tree with Savannah, watching this bear just vibe like he was at the buffet.

"So," she said, her shoulder brushing against mine. "Heard you might not do baseball this year."

"Who told you that?"

"Marcus. Also I saw your padel videos on your Instagram story." She smiled. "It's cool, though. My mom's obsessed with padel. She says it's basically tennis but for people who actually want to have fun."

"Your mom sounds smart."

"She also says you have nice form."

I looked at her. My palms weren't sweating anymore.

"Wait, your mom watches my stories?"

Savannah laughed. "Okay, that came out weird. But like, she showed me this one video and I was like, 'Is that Jake from bio?' and she was like, 'I don't know, but his backhand is on point.'"

"Your mom thinks my backhand is on point?"

"Dude, just accept the compliment."

The bear cub ambled off into the darkness. Marcus found us ten minutes later, Buster trailing happily behind him like he'd just made a new best friend.

"There you guys are," Marcus said. "Animal control showed up. Also, Savannah's little sister says she wants your number."

Savannah turned bright red. "Maria, shut up!"

I didn't quit the team. But I started playing padel at this new club on weekends, and sometimes Savannah came with me. She was terrible at it, but she made me laugh so hard I couldn't serve straight.

Buster still chews up my socks. My dad still thinks padel is "basically squash," which isn't even correct. But when tryouts rolled around this year, I made varsity. And afterwards, Savannah met me at the gate with Buster, and we went for boba like we do every Thursday now.

My palms don't sweat anymore. Well, not about baseball, anyway.