Running From the Bear

My life was officially pathetic. I was literally **running** laps around the school track at 7 AM because coach said it would 'build character,' while normal teenagers were sleeping or scrolling TikTok. The worst part? I wasn't even a real athlete. I was cross-country team filler, the human equivalent of a **vitamin** supplement—technically nutritious, but nobody actually wants me.

Then I saw him.

Jordan Rivera was at the baseball field, early as always, shirt off in the November chill like a total psycho. But like, an attractive psycho. His swing was effortless, each crack of the bat echoing through the foggy morning air.

I became his personal **spy**. Not in a creepy way—okay, maybe a little creepy. But honestly, can you blame me? I'd sit on the bleachers during third period, supposedly 'studying,' while actually memorizing how his biceps flexed when he threw. Sad girl behavior, I know.

One morning, my backpack fell open. Mr. Fluffenstuff tumbled out—my childhood teddy **bear**, missing one ear and dignity. Jordan looked up. Our eyes met. I wanted to dissolve into the track surface.

But then he laughed. Not mean laughter. Real laughter.

'I still have my old panda,' he called out. 'His name's Bambo. Don't judge.'

The next week, I found myself at a baseball game. Not watching. Playing. Jordan had convinced his teammates to let me try, and somehow, my cross-country endurance translated into hitting actual balls. When I smashed my first home run, Jordan whooped like I'd just won the World Series.

'See?' he said, grinning as I walked back to the dugout. 'You're not just vitamin supplements. You're the whole meal plan.'

Okay, that was the cheesiest thing I'd ever heard. But for some reason, I didn't hate it.

Maybe growing up wasn't about running away from the embarrassing parts of yourself. Maybe it was about finding someone who'd love you anyway—even with Mr. Fluffenstuff and third-place ribbons and absolutely no game.