Strike Zone Heart

The spinach pizza was Jake's mistake. His date. His idea. Now it sat between us like a green, oily monument to his poor decision-making skills at 2 AM during Emma's sleepover.

"You first," I said.

"Chickening out, Martinez?" Jake grinned, but his eyes betrayed him. We were running on three hours of sleep, playing truth or dare with people who'd been strangers two weeks ago. Freshman year will do that—turn you into a zombie before Halloween even arrives.

I picked up a slice. The spinach looked like something that had washed ashore.

"Eat it or you gotta kiss Tom," Emma said from across the blanket fort. Tom was currently asleep against the wall, mouth open, drooling slightly. The bar was in hell.

The baseball field outside Emma's window was bathed in that weird yellow streetlight. My dad had taken me to my first Cardinals game last spring. The crack of the bat, the smell of cheap hot dogs, the way my dad explained the strike zone like it was philosophy: "Sometimes you swing, sometimes you let it pass. Knowing which is which—that's the game."

I took a bite of the spinach monstrosity. It tasted like regret and feta cheese.

Jake high-fived me. His hands were warm. My stomach did this thing it'd been doing around him since September, like lightning striking somewhere far away but you could still feel the heat.

"Truth or dare," he said.

"Truth."

"You like Tom?"

"No," I said, but I was looking at Jake when I said it. The words just hung there, suspended in the air like the moment before a storm breaks. Emma stopped scrolling. Tom snorted awake in the corner.

"What'd I miss?" Tom mumbled, rubbing zombie eyes.

Jake's face was doing this thing where he was trying not to smile but failing. The room felt different suddenly, charged with something I couldn't name but definitely wanted more of.

"Nothing," I said, but I was still looking at Jake. "You wouldn't get it anyway. You'd probably just call it weird."

"Probably," Jake said. Then: "I don't think it's weird."

Outside, actual lightning flashed, illuminating the baseball field through Emma's window. For a second, everything was bright and clear and terrifyingly possible.

"Good," I said. "Because I was about to go for another slice."