The Fourth Inning Secret

Jordan tugged the brim of his baseball hat lower, trying to disappear into the bleachers. Everyone around him was decked out in team gear, face paint, those foam fingers. He'd just thrown on the first hat he'd grabbed that morning—his older brother's lucky cap, from back when Marcus actually played.

He hated baseball.

But that's what you did when you were trying to impress Taylor Rodriguez—you showed up at her softball games, you learned the rules, you pretended to care about batting averages and whatever "ERA" meant.

His phone buzzed.

WHERE U AT??? - Taylor

Jordan's heart kicked into overdrive. He'd been avoiding her texts all week. What was he supposed to say—that the real reason he'd been skipping her games wasn't because he was "busy with family stuff," but because he'd finally admitted to himself that he didn't like girls like that?

Or like anyone, really?

He was so done with lying. With running from who he actually was.

"Jordan!"

He froze. Taylor was pushing through the crowd, her jersey stained with orange dirt from sliding into second. She was wearing her lucky headband—the one he'd given her last month, thinking it meant something. Thinking HE meant something.

"I've been looking everywhere for you!" She dropped beside him, breathing hard. "You missed my double. And the coach finally moved me to cleanup."

She dug into her pocket and pulled out a slightly squished orange. "My mom packed way too many. Want one?"

Jordan stared at the fruit. At Taylor's genuine smile, the way she didn't suspect anything. The way she'd kept showing up for him even when he'd been distant, even when he'd been acting weird and cancelling plans last minute.

And then it hit him—what he'd been running from wasn't admitting who he was. It was losing his best friend.

"Taylor," he said, "I need to tell you something."

She tilted her head, waiting.

"I'm not—" He took the orange, turning it over in his hands. "I'm not straight. And I've been scared to tell you because I didn't want things to get weird between us."

Taylor blinked. Then she snorted. "Dude. I know."

Jordan's jaw dropped. "You KNOW?"

"Your Spotify didn't randomly start playing Troye Sivan that time you came over. Plus, Marcus told me weeks ago when I asked why you were being so weird at games." She bumped his shoulder. "I literally don't care. You're still my favorite person to get tacos with."

Jordan felt something in his chest loosen. The weight he'd been carrying for months dissolved into the summer air.

"Also," Taylor added, "Marcus said you borrowed his hat because you thought it made you look more 'straight-passing'?" She cracked up. "That is so embarrassing. I love it."

Jordan groaned, but he was grinning too. "I'm never living this down."

"Nope." Taylor stood up. "Now come on. I'm up next inning, and you're going to learn what a 'clean-up hitter' actually is."

He adjusted the hat. "Fine. But you're explaining the rules."

"Deal."

As they made their way toward the field, Jordan realized that sometimes the things you think will destroy your world end up making it feel whole instead.

And that was better than any home run.