Storm Card Sunday

The baseball cap wouldn't stay put. Every time Maya leaned forward, her wild curls escaped like they were plotting a jailbreak, which was exactly why she'd shoved the team hat low over her forehead in the first place. Tonight wasn't about being herself—it was about becoming someone who belonged at Tyler's party afterward.

"You gonna eat that hot dog or marry it?" Jordan ribbed from the bleacher below, grinning like he knew exactly how nervous she was. Maya's stomach did that annoying flip-flop thing it always did around him lately, which was ridiculous because Jordan had been her neighbor since they were six and he'd seen her with chicken pox and that unfortunate neon phase.

"Shut up," Maya muttered, but she was smiling. Around them, the summer game unfolded in that familiar rhythm—crack of the bat, distant chatter, the vendor shouting about cold drinks like he was announcing breaking news. She'd been coming to these games with her dad since forever, back when she'd worn her jersey backward and thought "strikeout" was something you ordered at a restaurant.

Then the sky broke open.

No gradual buildup, no polite warning—just lightning splitting the sky like someone taking a jagged marker to the atmosphere. Thunder followed immediately, shaking the metal stands beneath them. The game vanished as players scattered and the crowd surged toward the exits.

Maya's hat flew off.

She made a desperate grab for it, but the wind caught it—tumbling it across the wet concrete, rolling it toward the puddles gathering along the rows. Her hair spilled out everywhere, frizzing instantly in the humidity. For a split second, she considered just letting it go. Better to lose the hat than chase it looking like a drowned rat in front of everyone.

But then she saw Jordan diving for it, sliding through growing puddles like he was stealing home, water spraying everywhere. He caught the hat just before it disappeared into a drain and jogged back, totally drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, grinning like he'd just won the World Series.

"Your hat, m'lady," he said with this terrible bow, handing it over.

Maya stared at him—at the water dripping from his nose, at his shirt clinging to his chest, at how he looked absolutely ridiculous and didn't seem to care one bit. She took the hat, but she didn't put it back on. Instead, she ran both hands through her hair, shaking it out like she'd seen girls do in movies, letting it do whatever it wanted in the storm.

"You look like a poodle," Jordan said, but he was still smiling. "A really cool poodle."

"You look like you swam here," Maya shot back, and they both started laughing as the rain came down harder, people running past them toward shelter while they just stood there getting soaked.

The party could wait. Some things were more important than fitting in.