The Bear in the Baseball Cap

Two weeks. That's how long I'd been hiding under my brother's old baseball cap, praying nobody noticed the haircut disaster. My formerly-wavy hair now looked like a poodle that lost a fight with a lawnmower.

The cap smelled like sweat and confidence – two things I lacked. I was at Jake's game, brim pulled low. Jake, who I'd been crushing on since seventh grade, who still didn't know I existed.

"YO Lex!" Jake called from the dugout. His own hat sat perfectly backward. Because of course Jake Harris could pull that off.

The scoreboard showed seventh inning. Bernice the Bear – actually Mr. Henderson, the gym teacher – was doing something unholy with a hot dog on the sidelines while cheerleaders pretended not to die.

I needed to pee. But leaving meant walking past half the sophomore class, hat-less. My social life literally hung by a hair – or lack thereof.

Jake jogged over between innings, sliding beside me. "You good? You've been sitting there like you're plotting murder."

I laughed. "Just plotting to murder my stylist. Options open."

Jake reached out, tugging my brim. I froze.

"Your hair," he said, and I prepared for the roast. "I noticed you cut it."

My face burned. "Yeah. The stylist was clearly on something."

"It looks good." His ears turned pink. "You can actually see your face now."

Bernice chose that moment to trip over her giant bear feet and faceplant, sending popcorn flying. We both burst out laughing, and I forgot to be self-conscious. Forgot about the hat, the hair, everything.

"Seriously," Jake said. "You don't have to hide. You're actually pretty cute with short hair."

I pulled the hat off. The air hit my exposed neck, strange and freeing.

"Cute?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's your game?"

"I'm working on it, okay? I'm wearing baseball pants in front of half the school."

"Fair. Those pants are bold, Harris."

"Bold is my middle name."

"I thought it was Thomas?"

"Also bold."

I let my head tip back, sun on my ridiculous hair. Jake's leg pressed against mine, warm and terrifyingly perfect. Bernice was now doing a weird victory dance.

Whatever. Bad hair happens. Crushes happen. And sometimes the boy you've been crushing on for three years thinks you're cute even when you feel like a disaster.

I kept the hat off.

That felt like enough of a win.