Strikeout in the Orange Jersey

Marcus's stupid **orange** jersey was already two sizes too big, making him look like a traffic cone dressed up as a traffic cone. But Maya had said she liked orange, so here he was, standing at her front door with **baseball** tickets clutched in his sweaty palm.

"You came!" Maya's smile made his stomach do that annoying flippy thing. She was wearing this casual outfit that somehow looked perfect, while her golden retriever, Buster, immediately attempted to escape through Marcus's legs. The **dog** had zero respect for his moment.

They'd barely settled into the stadium seats when the announcer's voice cut out mid-sentence. The massive screen flickered and died. Someone nearby yelled that a **cable** outage had hit the whole block – no replay cams, no stats, no nothing.

"This is actually kinda cool," Maya said, squeezing some artificial cheese onto her nacho mountain. "Like old school **baseball**. Your grandpa probably watched games like this."

Marcus nodded sagely like he understood sports history at all. The game crawled along. Then came the bottom of the ninth – bases loaded, two outs, their team down by one. The sky opened up. Not rain. **Lightning**.

"First date jitters, huh?" Maya teased as the entire stadium's lights died simultaneously. Thunder rattled the concession stands.

"Yeah, totally," Marcus managed, though his hands were definitely shaking. Because he was about to say something incredibly smooth and mature –

And then his phone buzzed. His mom. Where ARE YOU it's DINNER TIME I'm not MAD but I'm NOT HAPPY.

"I have to go," he whispered, wanting to die.

Maya just laughed. "Go. But wear the orange jersey next time. It's hideous and I love it."

He walked home in the storm, jersey plastered to his chest, getting drenched but weirdly feeling like he'd won something bigger than any game.