The Bleacher Seats

Maya pressed her face against the cold chain-link fence, iphone clutched in sweaty palms like contraband. Three rows down, Jordan caught a fly ball with that effortless grace that made everything look choreographed. The baseball arced against a bruised purple sky, and for three seconds, Maya wasn't just the girl who sat alone at lunch.

"You're gonna rip a hole in that fence," Chloe said, sliding onto the bleacher beside her. "Seriously, you've been doing this 'spy' routine for two weeks. Either talk to him or let it go."

Maya's face burned. "I'm not spying. I'm appreciating from a distance. There's a difference."

"There really isn't."

On the field, Jordan laughed at something his teammate said—that crinkle-eyed laugh that Maya had recorded accidentally the one time she'd pretended to film the sunset. She still had the audio saved, labeled 'sunrise_3.mp4' like she was fooling anyone.

"He's leaving next week," Chloe said quietly. "Showcase in the city. Scouts, cleats, the whole nine yards."

The baseball game blurred. Maya's stomach dropped. "You're making that up."

"Google exists, Maya. Unlike your entire personality."

That night, Maya's iphone glowed on her desk while she typed and deleted seventeen different messages. 'Hey' was too desperate. 'Nice catch today' was creepy. 'I think your laugh sounds like sunshine' would get her blocked immediately.

Her thumb hovered over send. Then backspaced. Then hovered again.

At practice the next day, Jordan jogged past the fence where Maya sat—same spot, different misery. He stopped. Turned. Her stomach did something embarrassing.

"You're Maya, right?"

Her brain short-circuited. "That's what my birth certificate claims."

Smooth. Truly.

Jordan laughed—that laugh, up close, happening three feet from her face. "Cool. I found your phone case by the bleachers yesterday."

He held out her sparkly purple case. She'd dropped it Wednesday while fleeing his general vicinity.

"Thanks," she squeaked. "You saved it. My whole life was on that case."

"Your whole life fits in sparkly purple plastic?"

"It's more organized than it looks."

"I believe you." He adjusted his baseball cap. "Hey, I'm leaving for the city on Friday. But I'm gonna miss watching you pretend not to watch me."

Maya's face, forehead, and possibly her soul caught fire. "You—noticed?"

"Maya." Jordan grinned. "You sit in the same seat every day. You delete everything on your phone when I walk by. Last Tuesday, you tried to hide behind a textbook that was literally upside down."

"It was a creative reading strategy."

"It was adorable." He pulled a Sharpie from his bag. "Give me your arm."

She extended it like it might fall off. Jordan scrawled his number on her wrist, marker fumes mixing with cut grass and impending heart failure.

"Don't leave me on read," he said, jogging back to his team.

Chloe appeared beside her like she'd been summoned. "Well?"

Maya looked at the numbers drying on her skin. Then at Jordan's back. Then at her phone, which had seventeen unsent drafts.

"I think," Maya said, "I need a better creative reading strategy."