The Crack in the Screen

Maya stared at the spiderweb crack across her iPhone screen, the one she'd gotten when she tripped over that stupid outfield fence during tryouts last week. It was the final straw. Between the shattered glass and the fact that she hadn't made the varsity baseball team—again—she was ready to disappear into her bedroom and never come out.

"Hey, earth to Maya," Jordan said, snapping his fingers in front of her face. They were sitting on the bleachers, watching the junior varsity practice. "You're zoning out again. You good?"

Maya shoved her phone deeper into her sweatshirt pocket. "Yeah. Just thinking about how Coach said I need to work on my batting if I want any shot at next year."

Jordan pulled an orange from his backpack and started peeling it. Citrus scent filled the space between them. "You're being way too hard on yourself. You hit that double off the wall yesterday. That was legit."

"One hit doesn't matter." Maya picked at a loose thread on her jeans. "Everyone else has been playing travel ball since they were, like, six. I started last year. I'm basically a beginner compared to them."

"So what?" Jordan tossed a piece of orange peel into the trash can below. Perfect shot. "Nobody starts at the same place. What matters is that you actually like it."

Did she like it? Maya thought about the feeling of connecting with the ball, the crack of the bat, the dirt flying under her cleats. She thought about how her hands shook before every at-bat, how she overthought every pitch, how she could feel everyone's eyes on her.

"I don't know," she said finally. "Sometimes I think I'm just fooling myself. Like, who am I kidding? I'm not a baseball player."

Jordan looked at her for a long moment. "You're overthinking it. You always do." He tossed her half the orange. "Here. Take this."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's good, and you're hangry, and you need to chill out about the whole thing." He stood up and grabbed his glove. "Now come on. Pitch to me. I need practice too."

Maya caught the orange. It was bright and perfect and unexpected. She took a bite, sweet and tart, and watched Jordan jog toward the field.

"You coming?" he called back.

Maya wiped her hands on her jeans, grabbed her glove, and ran to catch up. Her phone stayed in her pocket, cracked screen and all. Some things were more important than the screen. Some things were worth showing up for, even when you weren't sure you belonged. Even when you were scared. Even when it meant possibly looking foolish.

"Yeah," she yelled back. "I'm coming."