Spinach Teeth Summer

The baseball field behind the rec center was basically social headquarters, and somehow, I'd finally scored an invite to Jamie's post-game hang. Bad decision number one: wearing my favorite vintage tee that I'd splurged three weeks of allowance on. Bad decision number two: eating the spinach dip.

I was mid-conversation with Jamie—actually talking to her, not just staring from across the bleachers—when her eyes went wide. Not the good kind. The 'oh my god, what is that' kind.

'You have a little...' she gestured to her teeth, fighting back a laugh.

I booked it to the water fountain like my dignity depended on it, which it absolutely did. The water tasted metallic and rushed too fast, splashing down my front, but at least the spinach situation was handled.

Or so I thought.

When I circled back, half the baseball team was losing it. Marcus, the catcher who'd been striking out all afternoon, pointed at me. 'Bro, you missed a spot. A BIG spot.'

My face burned so hot I could feel it radiating. I made a beeline for my bike, calculating how fast I could move to Mars.

'Hey, wait up.' Jamie caught me by the fence. 'Don't let Marcus get to you. He's just mad because he struck out three times today.' She grinned, and there was something stuck between her front teeth. A tiny green fleck.

I couldn't help it—I started laughing. She checked her reflection in her phone, groaned, then joined in. 'Okay, but seriously, are we the only two people who can't eat spinach without consequences?'

'Maybe we should just stick to baseball,' I suggested.

'I don't even like baseball,' she admitted. 'I'm just here for the snacks.'

I walked home that evening with spinach in my teeth, a water-stained shirt, and Jamie's number in my phone. Some disasters, it turned out, were actually just plot twists.