Strikeout at Midnight

The baseball field lights flickered like they were deciding whether to give up completely. Maya stood near the dugout, her cheap zombie makeup melting in the humidity, watching Jake—the captain of the team—sign autographs like he was already famous. She'd been "running" late all week, bouncing between AP classes and her part-time job, barely holding it together. Her social battery had been dead since Tuesday.

A crack of lightning split the sky, illuminating Jake's perfect smile. The crowd scattered. Maya grabbed her backpack and started sprinting toward the parking lot, the rain already soaking through her flannel. That's when she saw it—a calico cat cowering under the bleachers, shaking.

"Seriously?" she muttered, already knowing what she had to do. She'd always been the person who stopped for stranded animals, even when she had zero time or energy.

Maya dropped to her knees in the mud, zombie makeup probably smearing everywhere, and coaxed the cat out with some beef jerky from her backpack. The cat curled into her arms like it belonged there.

"You saved him?" Jake's voice behind her made her jump. He was standing there, hair plastered to his forehead, holding her umbrella—which she'd dropped in her sprint.

"He was scared," Maya said, feeling ridiculous. This was so not how she'd imagined talking to Jake for the first time. Not in zombie makeup. Not holding a muddy cat.

Jake grinned. "That's honestly really cool. I'm Jake, by the way."

"Maya."

"Want a ride? My truck's right there. And your cat looks like he could use a dry place."

Maya looked down at the cat, then at Jake, then at the rain still pouring around them like the world was finally washing away everything fake. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think that would be great."

Sometimes the best moments weren't the ones you planned. Sometimes they just happened—lightning strikes in the middle of a storm, when you least expected them.