Sweaty Palms & Orange Skies

Maya's palms were practically leaking she was so nervous, which was ridiculous considering she was just sitting in the bleachers, not even playing. But Lucas was down there on the baseball field, his cleats digging into the dirt as he adjusted his batting helmet, and somehow that felt like the most important thing happening in the entire world.

Her best friend Keisha nudged her with an elbow. "You're staring again. It's creepy, honestly."

"I'm not staring," Maya lied, grabbing her orange soda. The condensation made the can slippery, matching her clammy hands perfectly. "I'm observing. There's a difference."

"Right. Because you're totally a baseball scout now." Keisha rolled her eyes so hard Maya worried they might get stuck. "Just talk to him after the game. It's not rocket science."

But it felt like rocket science. It felt like climbing Mount Everest. It felt like anything but walking up to a boy and saying something that wouldn't come out as complete word vomit.

Lucas swung the bat and—CRACK—the ball went sailing toward the fence. Maya's stomach did this weird fluttery thing that had nothing to do with the nachos she'd eaten earlier. He was fast. He was graceful. He was everything she wasn't.

Then came the first rumble of thunder. Dark clouds had been gathering all afternoon, painting the sky this weird orange-pink color that made everything look cinematic and slightly unreal. The umpire called for a delay as the first jagged bolt of lightning split the sky.

"Game's getting canceled!" someone groaned behind them.

"Perfect," Keisha said, grabbing Maya's arm and pulling her toward the concession stand where everyone was crowding under the shelter. "Now's your chance. Go talk to him."

"I can't just—"

"Maya." Keisha's voice dropped the sarcasm. "You've liked him since September. It's June. Either make a move or move on. Those are your options."

So she found herself walking toward where Lucas was standing under the shelter, rain beginning to drum against the metal roof. Her heart was hammering so hard she thought everyone could hear it. Her palms were somehow even sweatier now, gross.

"Hey," Lucas said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "Maya, right? From English?"

"Yeah," she managed. "Um. Nice hit. Earlier."

"Thanks." He smiled, and this close she could see the tiny freckles across his nose. "I was hoping you'd come over. I wanted to ask if you wanted to come watch me play again sometime. Without the rain."

Her palm brushed against his when she reached for her fallen orange soda, and she didn't even care that her hands were gross because his were a little clammy too. The lightning flashed again, and in that moment, Maya learned something important: sometimes the scariest swings are the ones that connect.