Salty Palms & Second Chances

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she could barely grip the bat. Again.

"You good, Maya?" Liam called from the pitcher's mound, flipping his snapback backward like he owned the entire baseball field instead of just junior varsity.

"Yeah," she choked out, even though she was absolutely not good. The July sun beat down on the neighborhood park, turning everything shimmer-hazy. Half the sophomore class was scattered across the bleachers, phones out, mostly ignoring the pickup game except for those random moments when someone did something actually worth TikToking.

Maya had played softball forever, but this was different. This was *boys* baseball. This was Liam, who'd sat behind her in bio last year and drawn tiny perfect dragons in the margins of his notes while she pretended not to notice.

The pitch came. Fast. She swung, connected—

*CRACK.*

The ball sailed toward the parking lot where Mrs. Chen's ancient golden retriever, Buster, was apparently living his best life napping in some patch of shade. He perked up as the ball bounced near him, tail thumping, considering this his personal invitation to join.

"Buster, NO!" someone yelled.

But Buster was already sprinting (well, trotting enthusiastically) onto the field, ball proudly clamped in his jaw like he'd just won the canine World Series. The game stopped. Everyone started laughing, including Liam, who was bent over, hands on his knees, losing it.

Maya's palms stopped sweating. Finally.

She jogged over to where Buster sat, ridiculously pleased with himself, surrounded by a half-circle of sophomores. When she reached for the ball, he dropped it immediately into her hand, then leaned his whole weight against her legs like she was his new best friend.

"He likes you," Liam said, jogging over. He was closer now, near enough that she could see the tiny freckles across his nose. "Buster's a good judge of character."

"I'll take that," Maya said, surprising herself by how steady her voice sounded.

"Hey," Liam said, all casual-like. "You wanna hit again? Or, like, we could get water from the fountain. My treat."

Maya looked down at Buster, who was now aggressively demanding ear scratches. She smiled, feeling the tightness in her chest finally loosen.

"Water sounds perfect."

Sometimes the best moments aren't the ones you plan. Sometimes they're just you, a dog who thinks he's an athlete, and a boy who asks you to get water fountain water together like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Game, set, and match.

Her palms were definitely sweating again. But maybe that wasn't the worst thing anymore.