Summer of Switching Sides

The humidity at Palm Springs Country Club was actually criminal. Like, my hair was doing things I didn't know were physically possible. But I had to be here. Mom was "running" late for her shift, which meant I'd been stuck at the club for three hours with nothing but my overthinking and a vending machine Dr. Pepper.

I spotted Jake by the padel courts—sleeveless, somehow not sweating, looking like every main character energy picture on Maya's phone. My palms were literally slick against my phone case. This was it. The moment I'd been rehearsing in my mirror since June.

The baseball captain thing. That was my brand. My whole personality, according to half the JV team. But watching Jake laugh with his friends, something hit me different. I'd spent the entire season treating baseball like it was my personality, but watching the way Jake moved—careless, present, actually having fun—I realized I'd been playing the wrong game.

Literally.

"Hey!" I called out, my voice cracking like I was still thirteen. Jake turned, and suddenly I was running toward him without overthinking it for once. "You guys need a fourth?"

Jake's face lit up. "Bro, yes! Marcus just bailed. You any good?"

"Never played," I admitted, "but I'm terrible at taking things seriously."

"Perfect." He tossed me a racquet. "Neither are we."

Twenty minutes later, I was slamming balls into the net, tripping over my own feet, and laughing so hard my stomach hurt. Baseball had never made me feel like this—light, unburdened, like I could mess up and it wouldn't define me. When Jake high-fived me after my first actual point, his palm against mine sent this electricity through my whole body.

"Not terrible for a baseball guy," he grinned, and the way he said it—like being good at baseball wasn't the most interesting thing about me—made something in my chest loosen.

"Maybe," I said, matching his smile. "But I think I'm done letting sports do my talking for me."

"Good." Jake's phone buzzed. "Because I was gonna ask if you wanted to hang out. And I'm pretty sure that doesn't involve a scoreboard."

The humidity hadn't changed. My hair was still chaos. But for the first time all summer, I wasn't running from anything—or toward anything. I was just here. Finally playing the right game.