Sphinx on Third Base

The Sphinx wasn't some ancient Egyptian statue—it was Mrs. Gable's front porch cat, a chunky tabby who regarded me with the bored judgment of a creature who'd seen too many teenagers pretend they had it all figured out.

"You gonna tell me about her, or just keep staring?" Sphinx yawned, stretching across the porch steps.

I tossed her a piece of the spinach and feta wrap Mom had packed for my "healthy lunch phase." Sphinx sniffed it, turned up her nose, and went back to judging me.

"Whatever. You don't get it."

I'd been a spy for three weeks now. Not the cool kind—the pathetic kind who sat behind the baseball field bleachers during practice, supposedly doing homework but actually watching Maya laugh with her friends while pretending I didn't exist. My baseball cap was pulled low, my chemistry textbook was open to page 234, and my dignity was nonexistent.

Spinach had become my emotional support food. After Mom signed me up for the team ("It'll build character, Leo!"), I'd embraced the lifestyle. I packed spinach smoothies. I ate spinach salads. I was basically Popeye if Popeby sucked at sports and couldn't talk to girls.

"You should just talk to her," Sphinx seemed to say with another dismissive flick of her tail.

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You're a cat. You don't get nervous. You don't overthink everything. You don't wonder if your breath smells like spinach."

Coach blew his whistle. Practice was over.

This was it. My chance. My moment. The universe practically screaming DO SOMETHING.

I stood up. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else—someone cooler. Someone who didn't have grass stains on their jeans from sitting behind the bleachers for three weeks.

Maya was walking past the porch. She saw Sphinx and smiled. "Hey, nice cat."

"Her name's Sphinx," I heard myself say. My voice actually worked. "I'm Leo. I, uh, I play baseball. Not well. But I play."

She laughed. Not mean laughter. Actual laughter. "I've seen you. You're not that bad."

We talked for twenty minutes about nothing important. About the baseball team's losing streak. About her art class. About how Sphinx was the best conversationalist on the block.

"So," Maya said before she left, "you gonna be at the game Friday?"

"Wouldn't miss it," I said.

Sphinx purred as I sat back down on the steps, spinning my baseball cap backward because that's what confident people did.

"You're welcome," the cat seemed to say.

I tossed her the rest of my spinach wrap. She actually ate it that time.