The Orange Jersey Rebellion

I was literally running for my life. Okay, maybe not my actual life, but definitely my social life. The baseball playoffs were happening RIGHT NOW, and I was supposed to be on that field wearing that hideous orange jersey that made me look like a traffic cone.

"RILEY! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Maya yelled, sprinting after me. Her cleats clicked against the pavement because of course she'd worn them to school.

"Away!" I called back, not stopping. "I can't do it, Maya. I can't pretend to care about baseball anymore."

She caught up to me, breathing hard. "Dude, your dad is going to lose it. This is the championship game."

"I KNOW!" I stopped running and leaned against the brick wall behind the 7-Eleven. "But Maya, I hate it. I've hated it since t-ball when I was seven. I only kept playing because Dad played, and Grandpa played, and apparently every Henderson male since the Stone Age played baseball."

She pulled an orange from her backpack—like, a literal fruit—and started peeling it. "So quit. After the season."

"That's the thing." I took a piece of orange she handed me. "I don't want to wait. I want to quit NOW. Today. I'm done living someone else's life."

Maya stared at me, then grinned. "You know what? Good for you. But maybe don't text your dad during his big moment?"

"Too late." I held up my phone. "I told him I'm at the library with an algebra emergency."

"You are SO going to regret that algebra lie."

"Probably. But right now? I feel amazing."

We sat there eating orange segments while the sun went down, watching people head toward the field without us. For the first time in forever, I wasn't running toward something I was supposed to want. I was just... hanging out. Being real.

"So," Maya said, "what's your actual plan for tomorrow?"

"Join the track team?"

She laughed. "Obviously. Running away from your problems has to count as training, right?"