Summer of Curveballs

The first week of June, I decided my summer comeback would involve three things: actual hair products, a position on the varsity baseball team, and Maya noticing my existence for the first time since sixth grade.

"You're trying out?" Jordan snorted, practically spraying his Vitamin water everywhere. "Bro, you haven't picked up a bat since PE freshman year."

"That's the point," I said, even though my stomach was doing backflips. "New season, new me."

The problem was, I had exactly three weeks to transform myself from benchwarmer material to someone who could actually make the team. Coach Martinez didn't cut people, but he definitely had a way of making you wish you'd never been born with those conditioning drills.

My older sister, already away at college, had left behind her stash of 'wellness essentials' — which apparently included chewable vitamins that tasted like chalk and papaya enzyme supplements meant to 'support digestion.' I started downing both like they were magic performance enhancers. Maybe if I consumed enough healthy stuff, baseball skills would just manifest.

Tryouts happened on the hottest day of June. The sun beat down on the field until the air practically shimmered. I brought a gallon of water, chugging between every drill because dehydration was not going to be my excuse for striking out.

"Hernandez!" Coach Martinez barked. "Show me what you've got."

I stepped into the batter's box, heart hammering against my ribs. Maya was sitting in the bleachers with her friends, probably not even watching, but I pretended she was.

The first pitch came — a curveball that dipped low. I swung anyway, connecting with nothing but air.

"Eyes up!" Coach yelled. "Track it all the way in."

Second pitch: fastball, high and outside. I let it pass. Ball one.

Third pitch: another curve, but this time I saw it break. I waited, waited, then swung just as it crossed the plate. CRACK. The ball sailed into the outfield, bouncing past the left fielder.

"There we go!" Coach whistled. "That's what I'm talking about. Don't just swing at everything. Use your head."

I made the team as a utility player. Not exactly starter material, but I'd take it. And the Friday after our first game, Maya actually sat at my lunch table.

"Nice hit yesterday," she said, sliding her tray next to mine. "My dad says curveballs are impossible if you don't have patience."

"Yeah," I said, trying to play it cool even though my brain was short-circuiting. "Just got lucky, I guess."

"You going to the party at Tyler's tonight?" she asked.

"Probably." I tried not to sound too eager.

"Cool." She smiled. "Save me a water? I heard they run out fast."

That night, standing in Tyler's backyard with a red plastic cup in one hand and Maya laughing at something Jordan said, I realized something about reinventing yourself: sometimes it wasn't about becoming someone completely different. Sometimes it was just about finally swinging at the right pitches.

I still took my vitamins every morning. And okay, maybe the papaya stuff was just a placebo effect. But I'd take the win.