Sweaty Palms & Seventh-Inning Stretches

My palms are literally dripping. Like, I might actually slide right off this bleacher seat.

"You good?" Maya whispers, side-eyeing me.

"Fine," I lie, wiping my hands on my jeans for the third time in sixty seconds. "Just... adjusting."

The truth? I'm spiraling. Jackson Miller—the actual Jackson Miller, who somehow got even cuter over the summer—is sitting three rows down. His hair is doing that thing where it falls over his forehead, and every time he laughs at something his friends say, my stomach does this embarrassing little flip.

My iPhone buzzes in my pocket.

My heart literally stops. Is it him? Did he somehow—

Nope. Just my mom: "Have fun! Be home by 11."

I let out this pathetic little exhale that Maya definitely hears.

"You're being weird," she says, not accusingly. "Weirder than usual."

"I'm not being—"

And then Jackson looks back.

Our eyes catch and hold for like three entire seconds. His face does this thing—half smile, half something else—and then he turns back around.

I AM DECEASED.

My palms are suddenly five times sweatier. I grab my phone because I need something to do with my hands. Opening Instagram. Closing it. Opening it again. The blue light reflects in my glasses and I probably look like I'm doomscrolling at 1,000 miles per hour.

The game's bottom of the seventh. Two outs. Their best hitter—this absolute unit of a guy, number 44—steps up to the plate. The crowd goes NUTS.

"This guy's a beast," Jayden yells over the noise. "My dad says he's been absolutely crushing it this season."

"Bro's built like a bear," someone else adds.

I barely process any of it because my phone buzzes AGAIN.

Unknown number: "hey this is jackson from bio lol"

I stare at the screen. I read it three times. Is this real life?

Before I can even process—before I can even remember how English words work—the stadium's MASCOT comes stomping up the stairs. It's this enormous grizzly bear costume, and the person inside is moving way too energetically for someone wearing what's basically a walking furnace.

Bumper the Bear spots me. I don't know how. There are like two hundred people in this section. But those giant plastic eyes LOCK onto mine, and suddenly this seven-foot bear is BEELINING toward my row.

Maya is losing it. She's actually crying she's laughing so hard.

"OH MY GOD NO," I try to say, but it comes out as this tiny squeak.

Bummer—Bumper?—slides into the row next to me. Everyone's watching. Jackson turned around. THE ENTIRE STADIUM might as well be watching.

The bear does a little dance. Pantomimes looking at my phone.

"She's TEXTING," someone yells.

Then Bumper grabs my hand with this giant furry paw and raises it in the air like we just won something.

The crowd goes WILD.

I want to evaporate. I want to turn into actual mist and float away into the atmosphere.

Through my haze of mortification, I catch Jackson's expression. He's laughing—but like, in a nice way? He raises his eyebrows at me, gives this tiny nod, and turns back around.

Bumper does one last silly little shimmy and stumbles off toward the concession stand, probably to terrorize someone else.

Maya is still crying. "Did that seriously just—"

My phone buzzes AGAIN.

jackson: "that was iconic"

jackson: "also u looked really cute when bumper attacked u just fyi"

I read the texts. I read them again.

Then I look down at my palm, where Bumper's sweaty paw left a faint mark. I trace it with my thumb.

I type back: "your fault for being at a baseball game tbh"

The little bubble appears immediately.

jackson: "fair"

jackson: "wanna hang out after? me and jake are gonna get food but i could bail if u wanted"

I look at Maya. She raises her eyebrows, still grinning like a maniac.

My palms aren't sweating anymore.

I type: "Yesss"

And hit send.