Stalking My Ex-Best Friend

I never thought I'd be that person crouching behind the baseball dugout at 8 PM, iPhone clutched like a weapon, basically stalking my former best friend.

But here we are.

Maya hadn't spoken to me since The Incident (capital I necessary) three weeks ago. Our friend group had split like a faulty cable, and now she sat alone on the bleachers every day after practice, earbuds in, looking like the main character of her own sad movie. Meanwhile, I was the supporting character who got cut in editing.

"You're being a total creep," I muttered to myself, creeping closer anyway.

The baseball field stretched out before me, all manicured grass and pristine dirt that smelled like cut grass and teenage sweat. Then something moved near the concession stand.

A cat. This scrawny, weirdly confident calico with half an ear was winding itself around Maya's legs like it owned the place. Maya—ice-cold, friendship-ending Maya—was scratching its chin with this look of pure softness I hadn't seen since eighth grade sleepovers.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"Stop spying and just say hi, loser."

I froze. Maya was still petting the cat, still looking peaceful, but her phone was in her hand too.

"Whaaat" I typed back, because maturity is overrated when your ex-best friend just called you out.

"You're behind the dugout. Your giant head is reflected in the concession stand window."

I ducked. Actually full-on ducked behind a bench. Smooth.

"The cat likes you," she sent. "That's basically a personality reference."

"Your cat now?"

"His name is Baser. He comes to every game. He's a better listener than some people."

Ouch.

"Some people are sorry," I typed. "Some people have been trying to apologize for three weeks but didn't know how."

"Some people could start by coming over here and petting Baser."

So I did. And we sat on those uncomfortable metal bleachers while this stray baseball cat purred between us, and we didn't fix everything that night—not by a long shot. But we started.

Sometimes you need to be a little weird about it. Sometimes you need a cat named Baser. And sometimes friendship isn't about being cool. It's about being the kind of person who hides behind a dugout with an iPhone, hoping your person still wants to be found.