The Orange on the Mound

Maya's older brother's baseball practice wasn't exactly where she wanted to spend her Friday afternoon, but her mom had volunteered her for 'babysitting duty' since she was the only one with a license. She sat in the bleachers, peeling an orange—her third of the week, thanks to her recent health kick—when Jordan, the guy from her AP History class who'd somehow never spoken to her before, plopped down two rows down.

"Nice seat," he said, nodding at her orange peel pile like it was the most interesting thing he'd seen all day. "I didn't peg you for a baseball fan."

Maya laughed, nearly dropping the fruit. "Oh, I'm definitely not. My brother's the one on the mound. I'm just here for the snacks and free WiFi."

"Same," Jordan said, pulling out his own phone. "My little sister's the shortstop. I've been dragged to these things since, like, forever. It's literally my personal hell."

For the next hour, they talked about everything except baseball—teachers who gave way too much homework, the mystery of why the cafeteria pizza was somehow good and terrible simultaneously, and how they'd both rather be doing literally anything else. Maya found herself genuinely laughing at his terribad impressions of their principal, and when he mentioned he was going to the local indie record store's vinyl sale on Saturday, she blurted out that she'd been meaning to check it out forever.

"You should come," he said, so casual it almost sounded like he didn't care, but Maya noticed how his phone screen had gone dark like ten minutes ago. "I mean, if you want. No pressure."

"Yeah," Maya said, trying to match his chill energy. "That could be... actually not terrible."

Her mom pulled up just then, honking twice. As Maya gathered her stuff, she realized she'd forgotten to finish her orange. She tossed it to Jordan, who caught it one-handed without looking up from his phone.

"See you Saturday," he said, already typing something into his phone.

Maya slid into the passenger seat, grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. Her mom asked how practice had been, and Maya realized something: being the best friend's sister or the baseball practice hostage didn't matter anymore. She'd just made her own plans, with her own person, in the most unexpected place possible.

"Actually," Maya said, pulling out her phone to add Jordan's number that he'd somehow already sent, "it was pretty perfect."