The Orange Cat at Home Plate

I pulled my **hat** down lower, basically disappearing into the brim. Classic avoidance tactic. The school **baseball** game was cranking, and I was wedged between the bleachers and the snack bar, vibrating with a very specific kind of social anxiety—the kind where you show up to see someone but then immediately regret every life choice that led you here.

Maya was on the mound, windmill pitching like her entire future depended on it. I'd been third-wheeling with her and my best friend Sam for weeks, quietly losing it every time she laughed at my jokes or accidentally brushed my arm. Which was pathetic. We were seventeen, not twelve.

An **orange** cat—some mangy stray that clearly owned this school—sauntered onto the field like it was paying tuition. The umpire waved his arms, trying to shoo it away. The cat sat. Clean. In center field.

'Yo, who invited the cat?' someone yelled. The entire dugout was losing it. Maya turned, saw me wedged by the fence, and waved. I did this weird half-wave-half-duck thing that definitely looked like I was having a seizure.

She jogged over between innings. 'Hey! You came.' Her hair was a mess, uniform dusty, and I realized I'd been holding my breath.

'The cat invited me,' I blurted.

Maya laughed. Actual laughed. 'You're ridiculous.' She reached out, tugged my **hat** brim. 'You don't have to hide, you know.'

The orange cat was now getting head scratches from the left fielder. The crowd was chanting something unprintable.

'I'm not hiding,' I lied.

'You're wearing a **hat** in April, Leo.' Her eyes locked on mine. 'Also, I've been waiting for you to show up to a game all season. Sam told me.'

My brain short-circuited. 'Wait, what?'

The cat chose that moment to steal a hot dog from someone's hand and bolt toward the parking lot. The place went absolutely feral.

Maya stepped closer, her shoulder brushing mine. 'Come to the dugout after. I'll introduce you properly.' She winked—actually winked—and jogged back to the mound.

I stood there, heart hammering, suddenly hyperaware that I'd spent months hiding under a **hat** and behind a friend, thinking I was invisible. Meanwhile, Maya had been watching back the whole time.

Sometimes the universe sends you signs. Sometimes it sends you an orange cat stealing a hot dog at a **baseball** game. You just have to stop hiding long enough to see them.