Sphinx in the Dugout

The spinach incident happened two hours before the biggest baseball game of the season, which is exactly how my life works.

I was standing in front of my mirror, psyching myself up to finally talk to Jordan—the cute junior who'd been catching my eye since tryouts—when my little brother's fox terrier, Buster, decided to launch himself at my legs like a furry missile. I flailed, caught my foot on the rug, and face-planted directly into my leftover lunch.

"You look like you went five rounds with a salad," my brother called from the hallway.

I spent twenty minutes picking spinach out of my braces, re-applying mascara, and trying to convince myself that the universe wasn't personally invested in my humiliation.

The game against Northwood was packed—everyone in the bleachers, the energy electric. Our team had made it to regionals for the first time in forever. Coach Miller gave us this pep talk about being warriors, about how we'd trained like those ancient athletes who competed at the Sphinx of Egypt, which made zero sense but somehow fired everyone up.

"Fox," Jordan said, sliding onto the bench next to me. "You nervous?"

My brain short-circuited. Jordan had never used my nickname before.

"No. I mean, maybe. A little."

Their hand brushed mine—accidental, probably, but my heart did this complicated gymnastics routine anyway.

"You're gonna crush it," Jordan said. "You've been working your butt off all season."

Then they reached out, gently thumbing something from my cheek.

"You, uh... you still have a little..."

Spinach. Of course.

I wanted the earth to crack open and swallow me whole. Instead, I laughed. Actually laughed. Because what else could I do?

"Story of my life," I said, wiping it away. "Thanks."

Jordan smiled, and their eyes did this crinkly thing that made my stomach drop in a good way. "It's kinda cute."

Cute. The word hung there.

"Fox! You're up!", Coach yelled.

I grabbed my bat, heading to the plate with spinach in my teeth and cheeks burning and Jordan watching from the dugout.

The pitch came—fast, outside corner—and I swung. Connected. The ball sailed over the fence.

As I rounded third, Jordan was waiting, grinning like they'd never seen anything more amazing.

"Told you," they said.

Maybe the universe wasn't invested in my humiliation after all.