Storm Over the Baseball Diamond

My palms were sweating so bad I could barely grip the bat. Typical, right? I was up at plate during the most important baseball game of the season, and my brain decided now was the perfect time to replay every embarrassing interaction I'd ever had with Maya.

"You got this, Leo!" someone yelled from the bench. Probably not Maya. She was too busy being perfect in the stands, probably not even watching.

The pitcher wound up. I swung. Strike three. The collective groan from the crowd hit me like physical pain. I jogged back to the dugout, head down, pretending my cleats were suddenly fascinating.

"Nice one, butterfingers," Maya teased, falling into step beside me. Her dad had moved here from Hawaii last year, and she'd spent the whole summer trying to get me to try papaya. "Want to come over after? My mom made that papaya smoothie again."

I rolled my eyes. "Pass on the fruit salad, thanks."

"Your loss." She bumped my shoulder. "You were distracted up there. What's going on?"

Before I could answer, a rumble of thunder shook the metal bleachers. The sky opened up—just typical Florida summer weather, sunny one second, lightning the next. Everyone scrambled for cover.

Maya grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the concession stand. We huddled under the overhang, watching the rain turn the dirt infield into mud. Lightning flashed so bright it left spots in my vision, thunder cracking directly overhead.

"So," she said, wiping rain from her face. "You gonna tell me why you couldn't hit a beach ball today?"

I looked at her—really looked at her. Rain plastered her hair to her forehead, her jersey was soaked, and she was grinning like this was the best day ever.

"I was thinking about how you're my best friend," I blurted, "but I kinda wish you weren't."

Her grin faded. "What?"

"I mean—" I gestured helplessly. "I don't want to be just friends anymore. But I didn't know how to say that, so I struck out instead."

Maya stared at me for what felt like forever. Then she started laughing. Not mean laughing, but the real kind, where she had to lean against the wall to stay upright.

"You're such an idiot," she said, but she was smiling. "I've been waiting for you to figure that out since February."

"Seriously?"

"The papaya smoothies were definitely not smoothies, Leo. That was just an excuse to hang out."

A particularly close lightning strike made us both jump. She grabbed my hand again—sweaty palm and all.

"So," she said, squeezing my fingers. "Papaya tomorrow? Just the two of us?"

I couldn't stop smiling. "Yeah. Papaya tomorrow."