The Color of Almost

Maya's iPhone buzzed against her thigh — third time this minute. The group chat was losing it over something Tyler posted, obviously, but her legs burned too much to care. Cross-country practice wasn't supposed to feel this hard today, but everything felt harder since she'd started actually noticing him. Not just Tyler-who-sits-behind-her-in-bio Tyler, but Tyler-who-made-her-stomach-do-flips Tyler.

She slowed to a jog, pulling out her phone. Seventeen notifications. Her thumb hovered over his message — "u coming to jake's party?" — when something caught her eye. Bright, impossible orange. Someone's abandoned hoodie, draped over a park bench like it belonged there. Not just orange. HIS orange. The same oversized hoodie he'd worn Friday when he'd held the door open for her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maya's heart did that stupid flutter thing again. This was it. The universe was practically screaming at her. She messaged back, fingers flying, "maybe. what r u wearing?"

Almost immediately: "lol why?"

"just wondering"

She tucked her phone into her pocket and started running again, faster this time. The orange hoodie was still there. If she took it, she'd have an excuse to talk to him tomorrow. If she left it, she'd spend the next week wondering if she'd missed her shot.

Her phone buzzed again. "u ok? u seem off today"

Maya stopped running. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and impossible. She could keep going in circles, literally and figuratively, or she could actually do something. She grabbed the orange hoodie, put it on, and facetime-called him.

"You left your hoodie at the park," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'm wearing it. Come get it if you want it back."

Tyler's face on her screen went from confused to something softer. "On my way."

Sometimes running toward something is scarier than running away. But sometimes, it's the only way to find out if the thing you've been chasing is actually running toward you too.