The Bear in the Outfield

My iPhone buzzed for the third time in two minutes, lighting up with another Instagram notification. I swiped left, ignoring it like a pro, because today was about focus. Today was about not embarrassing myself in front of everyone.

I was seventeen and apparently still trying to figure out how to exist in public without wanting to crawl inside my own skin. The baseball field behind school was where the cool kids gathered — where Jace played, where his laugh echoed across the bleachers like something I should be recording and replaying in my head forever.

I'd been secretly running cross country since freshman year, mostly because it gave me an excuse to be alone with my thoughts for forty-five minutes a day. But today, Coach Miller had signed me up for some weird charity relay that ended at the baseball game. Because apparently my social life wasn't awkward enough already.

"You're up, Bear!" someone shouted.

I groaned. "Don't call me that."

"But you're always running like you're being chased by a bear!" Lucas grinned, leaning back against the bleacher. "It's literally your personality."

I adjusted my headphones and started stretching, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. Jace was sitting two rows up, baseball cap backward, talking to some girls whose hair looked like they'd spent three hours on it. My hair looked like I'd spent three hours running through a forest. Which, technically, I had.

The race itself was fine — I mean, running was basically the only thing I was good at besides overthinking everything. But afterward, when everyone was grabbing snacks and laughing and forming those perfect little groups that always seemed to have an invisible NO BEARS ALLOWED sign... I stood there feeling like I'd forgotten how to human.

Then Jace walked over.

"Hey," he said. "You were flying out there."

My brain short-circuited. "What?"

"The race. You were..." He smiled, and it was worse than I imagined. "Actually kind of impressive."

I stared at him. "You noticed?"

"Dude, you finished before half the varsity team." He handed me a Gatorade. "Also, Lucas says your nickname is Bear. That's sick."

I looked at my iPhone, dark in my hand, all those notifications I'd been stressing about suddenly feeling very far away. "It's... yeah. It's fine."

"Cool." He gestured toward the field. "Wanna come hang? We're doing pizza after the game."

I followed him toward the bleachers, thinking maybe sometimes — just sometimes — the awkward pause before something good happens is actually worth it.