Strikeout & Second Chances

Maya's hair was supposed to be straight by now. That was the plan when she'd begged her mom for the expensive straightening treatment—to finally fit in with the glossy-haired girls who ruled the sophomore hallway like it was their personal kingdom. But three hours and a chemical burn later, she'd ended up with a frizzy halo that made her look like she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket. Again.

"You look... unique," her best friend Leo had offered diplomatically when they met at the baseball field.

Maya sighed, running a hand through the stubborn curls. "Unique is code for hot mess. I can't believe I have to go to the state championship like this."

"At least you're not in the mascot costume," Leo pointed out, gesturing toward the poor sophomore sweating inside the giant tiger head. "Also, I'm pretty sure that guy in section C has been staring at you since we got here."

Maya's heart did that stupid fluttery thing. Same guy who'd accidentally knocked into her during fourth period lunch and muttered "my bad" with the cutest crooked smile she'd ever seen. Now here he was, three rows up, wearing a varsity jacket and looking completely unfair.

The game was tied 2-2 in the seventh inning when Maya felt something cold splash onto her palm. Someone's soda had overturned, and in the chaos of the spill, Gorgeous Varsity Guy landed beside her, helping wipe the sticky mess from her hand.

"Sorry about that," he said, and his voice was even better up close. "I'm Carlos, by the way."

"Maya," she managed, her palm tingling where his fingers had brushed. Great—now her hand was sticky AND nervous.

"Cool hair," he added, and maybe she imagined it, but he sounded like he actually meant it. "It's got personality."

Personality. Code for hot mess, but somehow, coming from him, it sounded like a compliment. As the baseball team's pitcher wound up for the final strike, Maya caught her reflection in Carlos's sunglasses—frizzy hair, sticky hand, and possibly, just possibly, a smile that wasn't worried about fitting in anymore.

Some things, she decided, were better than perfect.