Riddles in the Dugout

The vitamin C tablets sat on my nightstand like a passive-aggressive challenge from my mom. 'For your immune system, Leo,' she'd said, but we both knew it was code for 'please don't choke at tryouts tomorrow.' As if orange-flavored compressed powder could fix sixteen years of being the guy who trips over nothing.

I grabbed my baseball glove from the corner, the leather still smelling like last season's disappointment. Coach Miller had watched me strike out in practice yesterday with that look—the one that said maybe I should stick to band. But I needed this. Baseball was the one thing that made me feel like I could actually be somebody at North Valley High instead of just the quiet kid who sat alone at lunch.

The cable modem in the living room was blinking its miserable orange light again. My dad had promised to call the provider 'any day now' for three weeks. No internet meant no researching tryout tips at 2 AM when my anxiety decided to host a rave in my brain. Not that it would've helped anyway. You can't Google your way out of sucking.

Maya was waiting by the dugout when I arrived early Friday morning, which was basically a heart attack I didn't need. She transferred here last month and had already established herself as the kind of unapproachable that felt intentional—like she'd studied how to be mysterious and aced the final. She was sitting on the bench with that unreadable expression, watching me like I was some exhibit she couldn't quite figure out.

'You're here early,' she said, and I tried to play it cool instead of freaking out that the Maya Chen was speaking to me.

'Gotta get in some extra reps.' I set my bag down, trying to look like a dedicated athlete instead of a nervous wreck.

She tilted her head, studying me with sphinx-like intensity. 'You know, confidence isn't about being good. It's about being willing to look bad and not caring what people think.'

I stared at her. 'What?'

'Tryouts.' She hopped off the bench. 'You're so in your head about it that you've already lost before you even step up to the plate. Just swing the bat, Leo. Nobody's watching as closely as you think they are.'

Coach blew his whistle before I could respond. Twenty minutes later, I stood at the plate, heart hammering against my ribs. The pitcher wound up and I forced myself to breathe, to actually see the ball instead of imagining every way I could embarrass myself.

I swung.

The crack of the bat was the most satisfying sound I'd ever heard. The ball sailed into the gap between left and center field, and I took off like my life depended on it. My legs pumped, everything blurring except the base ahead. I slid into second, dirt flying up around me, and looked up to see Coach Miller actually nodding.

Maya was leaning against the backstop, smirking like she'd never doubted it for a second.

'Not bad,' she said when I finally caught my breath. 'But you're still overthinking it.'

'I'll work on that,' I managed, trying to sound smooth instead of like I was about to pass out from excitement.

'Do that.' She pushed off the fence. 'Oh, and Leo? You should probably actually take those vitamins. You look like you haven't slept in a week.'

I laughed, and it felt real for the first time in forever. Maybe tryouts weren't going to be so bad after all. Or maybe I'd just finally found someone who believed I could handle them.