Spinach Smile Summer

The **orange** Gatorade sloshed in my bottle as I leaned against the chain-link fence, trying to look casual. Jake Mendez was at bat, and I was definitely not staring at how his forearms flexed when he swung.

"You gonna drink that **water** or just hold it hostage?" Maya called from second base, grinning like she knew exactly what I was thinking.

I flipped her off. She winked. Maya had been my best friend since third grade, which meant she was obligated to roast me about my crush on Jake basically forever.

Coach blew his whistle. "Alright, bring it in!"

I walked toward the dugout, psyching myself up. Today was the day I'd actually talk to Jake. Not just "hey" or "nice hit" — like, a real conversation. I'd rehearsed it in the mirror last night: Hey Jake, sweet game. Want to grab food after?

Simple. Cool. Not desperate.

Then my stomach growled. Loudly.

Like, aggressively loudly.

Three heads turned. Jake's included.

I fake-coughed to cover it, which somehow made it worse. Everyone started drifting toward the parking lot, and I realized my window was closing. Jake was walking away with his team.

Wait. I had one chance.

I jogged over. "Hey Jake!"

He turned, all easy smile and messy brown hair. "Yeah?"

"Nice game," I said. "I mean, really nice. You crushed it."

"Thanks, appreciate it." He kept walking. Crap. I needed more.

"So, um, I was wondering if you wanted to—" I stopped mid-sentence. Maya's eyes went wide behind Jake's back. She was mouthing something frantic at me. What was she—

Oh no.

I ducked my head and sprinted toward the bathrooms, heart hammering against my ribs. Locked myself in a stall and pulled out my phone mirror.

There, stuck between my front teeth like a neon green flag of shame: **spinach**. From the stupid salad I'd eaten before practice because I was trying to be healthy or whatever.

I brushed my teeth with my finger for five minutes straight.

When I finally came out, the field was empty. Except for Maya, sitting on the bench with an orange Gatorade waiting for me.

"You're an idiot," she said, but she was smiling.

"I know."

"Jake was laughing, by the way. Not mean laughing. Like, 'this is the most awkward thing that's ever happened' laughing."

"That's worse."

"Nah." She tossed me the Gatorade. "He said you should come to the party Saturday. And maybe check a mirror first."

I caught it. The plastic was cold against my palm, and somewhere beyond the fence, the sun was painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. So don't overthink it, okay? You're just you. Spinach and all."

I cracked open the Gatorade. It tasted like second chances.