Strikeout in the Rain

Maya's braces had been on for exactly three weeks when Ryan—the guy she'd been lowkey crushing on since seventh grade—finally noticed her existence at the worst possible moment. She was sitting in the dugout during JV baseball practice, desperately trying to look chill while simultaneously calculating how to extract a massive piece of spinach from her front teeth without anyone noticing.

"Hey, you're at every game," Ryan said, sliding onto the bench beside her. His baseball uniform was slightly grass-stained, and he smelled like sunshine and expensive cologne. "You a big fan or something?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. Something between a squeak and "I literally breathe for this sport" escaped her mouth as she frantically waved her hand in front of her face, hoping to somehow blow the spinach away with sheer force of will. Ryan didn't seem to notice the emergency happening three inches from her face.

"I'm just here for my brother," Maya finally managed. "He's the pitcher. Number twelve."

"Oh yeah, Lucas? He's got a crazy fastball." Ryan leaned back, his arm brushing against hers. Maya's heart performed gymnastics she didn't know were physically possible. "So what's your story? Besides being baseball's little sister?"

Before Maya could respond—before she could say anything that would establish herself as the interesting, mysterious girl she definitely was not—the sky opened up.

Literally.

A crack of thunder shook the metal dugout as rain started pouring down in sheets, and somewhere in the distance, lightning split the sky like something out of a movie. Coach blew the whistle, everyone scattered, and suddenly it was just Maya and Ryan, trapped under the tiny overhang as water flooded the baseball field.

"This is so iconic," Ryan laughed, shaking his wet hair like a golden retriever. "Best practice ever."

Maya stared at him, rain dripping down her face, spinach still tragically wedged in her braces, and realized she had two choices: keep being the girl who waited for life to happen, or actually live it.

She laughed. A real, genuine laugh that made her slightly crooked front teeth (currently occupied by spinach) show completely.

"You've got some—" Ryan reached toward her face, then stopped. "Actually, never mind. It's kinda endearing."

Maya froze. Then she whipped out her phone camera.

The spinach was visible from space.

But Ryan was still smiling at her, and somehow, in that moment between the thunder and the rain and the absolute disaster of her social life, Maya realized something important: sometimes the worst moments become the best stories. And maybe—just maybe—having a little spinach in her teeth was exactly the kind of vulnerability that made her real.

"So," Ryan said, as the rain slowed to a drizzle. "Want to grab food? My treat. Preferably somewhere with salad."