Stealing Home

The orange cat showed up behind the dugout every day during practice, a dirty-bellied stray with one ear that refused to stand up. I named him Papi, after my grandfather who'd passed away the summer before.

"You're gonna miss again," Jordan called from the plate, his voice cutting through my thoughts like a line drive. I adjusted my batting gloves, trying to ignore how everyone was still watching me like I was some science experiment—the-girl-who-made-the-team.

The papaya my grandmother had shipped up from Florida sat in my backpack, its skin turning yellow-green in the locker's stale air. Mami had packed it for luck, like papaya could magically fix everything that felt wrong about being the only girl on the team, the only Latina in my honors classes, the only one whose abuela still believed fruit could change your destiny.

"Miller! You're up!" Coach barked, and I stepped into the box, my heart somewhere in my throat. The pitch came—high, outside—and I swung anyway, making contact but barely. The ball dribbled toward second base.

"Run!" someone yelled, and I did, my cleats tearing up the infield dirt. Safe by an inch. Not pretty, but it worked.

After practice, everyone else headed to the locker room or their rides. I walked behind the dugout, where Papi waited. I broke open the papaya, its flesh shocking pink against my dirty uniform. The cat purred like a tiny motor as I fed him pieces, his rough tongue against my fingers.

"That's weird."

I jumped. Jordan stood there, his bat bag slung over his shoulder. I waited for the joke, the stupid comment about how soft I was for feeding strays.

"My grandmother sends them from Florida," I said, defensive already. "It's a...thing."

Jordan studied me for a second, then dropped his bag. "My mom used to bring home mangoes from the market on Saturdays. Before she left."

He sat down beside me, and I handed him a piece of papaya. We ate it there in the dirt, the orange cat between us, while the stadium lights flickered on overhead.

"Not bad," Jordan said, licking juice from his thumb. "Weird texture though."

"That's what I tell her," I said, and for the first time all season, I didn't feel like I had to prove anything.