Sweaty Palms & Finish Lines

My palms were sweating so much I could barely grip my phone. Across the cafeteria, Jake sat wearing that bright orange sweatshirt—the one that made him look like a walking highlighter but also somehow made him the most gorgeous person at Northwood High. I'd been crushing on him since seventh period PE last semester, when he'd asked if I was okay after I tripped over my own feet during laps. I'd said "fine" even though my knee was bleeding. Classic me.

Today was different. Today I'd actually talk to him.

My friends were no help. "You're overthinking it," said Maya, casually eating her spinach salad like having emotions wasn't the most terrifying thing in the world. "Just go say hi. He's literally right there."

"Literally the problem," I muttered.

I was psyching myself up, practicing my cool approach in my head, when Maya dropped her fork. "Wait, you've got—"

I froze. "What?"

"Spinach. In your teeth. Massive piece."

I grabbed my water bottle and chugged like I'd been stranded in a desert, swishing aggressively. When I checked my reflection in my phone camera, my face was burning. Could this day get any worse?

Then Jake stood up and started walking toward me.

My brain short-circuited. I did what any rational person would do: I grabbed my backpack and speed-walked toward the exit, pretending I'd just remembered something incredibly urgent. But fate had other plans—Mr. Henderson, the track coach, stepped in front of me.

"Rodriguez! You're running the 1600 at sectionals next week. Don't think I haven't noticed you skipping practice."

I stammered something that sounded like "yes sir" and "totally there" mashed together. Behind me, I heard Jake laugh. Not mean laughter—real laughter. Like, actually amused.

I turned slowly.

"You're fast," he said. "I saw you running at the park last weekend. You've got form."

My heart was doing something genuinely concerning. "Thanks. I think."

"Want to run with me sometime?" He grinned. "I mean, not race. Just... running. Together."

I looked at my sweaty palms, then at Jake's hopeful expression. Sometimes the scariest things are also the ones worth doing.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that."