Riddles in the Rain

The baseball sat heavy in my glove, soaked through with water from the sudden downpour. Coach blew the whistle—game canceled, everyone scrambling for the dugout. Everyone except Maya.

She stood at home plate, face tilted toward the dark sky, like she was waiting for something.

"Maya!" I yelled, jogging over. "You're gonna get struck by—"

*CRACK.*

Lightning split the sky, electric blue veins spiderwebbing through the clouds. For a second, everything turned white. When my vision cleared, Maya was laughing, hair plastered to her face, makeup running down her cheeks like black tears.

"That was the coolest thing I've ever seen," she said, grinning.

I'd been crushing on Maya since seventh grade, when she'd moved here from Seattle with her mystery and her leather jacket and her way of looking at you like you were a puzzle she hadn't figured out yet. The guys called her "the Sphinx" behind her back—always riddling, never revealing. She knew everything about everyone but shared nothing about herself.

"You're insane," I said, but I was grinning too.

"Am I? Or am I just the only one having fun?" She stepped closer, and my heart did that stupid flutter thing. "What are you afraid of, Alex? Getting wet? Getting hurt? Living a little?"

Lightning flashed again, closer this time. The thunder followed immediately, rattling my teeth.

"I'm not afraid of anything," I lied.

Maya's eyes searched mine. "Prove it."

She grabbed my hand, her palm warm despite the rain, and pulled me toward the outfield. Where the grass was flooded, where the water pooled around our ankles, where we were definitely going to get in trouble for trashing the field.

"Dance with me, Alex."

I hesitated. Then I thought about being the guy who always played it safe, who never took risks, who watched Maya from afar but never made a move. Who was *that* guy, anyway?

I took her hand. We spun through the rain, clumsily at first, then with something like rhythm, while lightning painted the sky in flashes of purple and green. Water sluiced down my face, my clothes, my everything, and I didn't care.

For three minutes, I wasn't the quiet kid who sat in the back of algebra class. I was the kind of person who danced in a thunderstorm with a girl who made me feel like I could fly.

"See?" Maya said, breathless. "Not so scary, is it?"

Then the sky opened up again, harder this time, and we ran for the dugout laughing like we'd just gotten away with murder.

The next day, everyone asked why we were so happy. Maya just winked at me. Some riddles aren't meant to be solved—just experienced.