The Bullpen Truth

Leo's Golden Retriever, Buster, chose that exact moment to shake off lake water all over Maya's favorite white Converse. Perfect. Just perfect.

"Buster, you traitor," Leo groaned, grabbing a beach towel.

Maya didn't even flinch. "It's fine. They're already ruined from when I fell running bases yesterday anyway."

That's when Leo noticed — her ankle was swollen.

"You're still playing?" Leo asked, forgetting for a second that his brain had been buffering around her since seventh grade.

Maya shrugged, tossing her phone onto the bleachers. "Varsity tryouts are Friday. Coach Peterson said if I can hit, he doesn't care if I'm literally falling apart. Which, lowkey, I might be."

Leo had heard about Coach Peterson. The man was an absolute bull, charging through players' egos like they were made of tissue paper. Last week, he'd benched the star shortstop for missing one curveball. One.

"My dad says Peterson's a legend," Leo offered weakly.

"Your dad also thinks Crocs are acceptable footwear," Maya shot back, grinning. "He's not exactly batting a thousand on life choices."

Leo laughed. A real one, not his usual nervous half-chuckle.

That's when Max's voice cut through: "Aw, Leo's making googly eyes at the baseball girl!"

The baseball team erupted into chaos. Someone made kissy sounds. Someone else shouted something about Leo not knowing which end of a bat to hold.

Maya's face did that thing where she pretended not to hear but definitely heard everything.

"Shut up, Max," Leo said, but his voice cracked at the worst possible moment. The team died. Absolutely lost it.

Buster, sensing social annihilation, bounded toward the field with the kind of enthusiasm only dogs possess while humans are experiencing their worst moments.

"Buster! NO!"

But it was too late. The dog was gone, running toward the varsity team like he'd been invited to tryouts. Coach Peterson stopped mid-sentence, clipboard frozen as a wet Golden Retriever skidded to a halt at his feet, tail wagging so hard his entire back half was involved.

"Is that... is that a bear?" someone whispered.

"It's a golden retriever, you walnut," Maya called out.

The entire baseball field went silent. Then Coach Peterson started laughing. Not mean laughter — the real kind. He bent down, scratched Buster's ears, and looked directly at Leo and Maya.

"Any dog with good taste in footwear selection deserves a roster spot," Peterson announced. "You two coming to tryouts or what?"

Maya looked at Leo. Leo looked at Maya.

"Well," she said, "you heard Coach."

Leo's hands were sweating. His heart was doing something concerning in his chest. But for the first time ever, he walked onto that field not running away from what he wanted, but toward it.

Buster followed. Obviously.