The Orange Peel Betrayal

I'd been running from the truth all semester: I sucked at baseball. Like, actually, embarrassingly bad. But when Jordan Chen— varsity star, holder of my crush since seventh grade— asked me to the team's end-of-season bonfire, I didn't exactly lead with that information.

The fire crackled behind the baseball field bleachers, casting flickering shadows across everyone's faces. I stood there in my orange hoodie— Mom had bought it on sale, too bright to blend in, too ugly to pull off— clutching a soda I wasn't drinking. Jordan tossed a baseball back and forth with Tyler, laughing at something I couldn't hear.

"Hey, Marina!" Tyler called out. "Think you can hit this?"

He tossed the baseball my way. It landed in my hands like a dead bird. I'd been running from this moment for weeks, dodging pickup games, changing the subject whenever practice came up. Everyone assumed I played. I'd never corrected them.

The baseball felt heavy. Wrong. Like holding something I didn't deserve.

I peeled an orange with shaky fingers, needing something to do with my hands. The citrus scent cut through the smoke and awkwardness. Jordan watched me, and for a second, I thought— hoped— she'd come over. Instead, she smirked at Tyler.

"Bet you five bucks she can't even throw it back."

My face burned hotter than the bonfire. I wasn't mad at the bet. I was mad because they were right.

I threw the baseball anyway. It wobbled through the air like a drunk pigeon and landed somewhere in the darkness by the fence. Someone laughed. Jordan didn't.

"Yeah," I said, voice barely steady. "I don't actually play. I just— I don't know, I wanted you guys to think I was cool."

The silence stretched. I mentally calculated exit routes, running through scenarios where I disappeared forever and changed my name to someone who didn't lie about sports.

Jordan walked over. She picked up an orange segment from my open palm, popped it in her mouth.

"Good," she said, chewing thoughtfully. "Baseball's boring anyway. You down for D&D tomorrow? Tyler's hosting, but we need a rogue."

The orange baseball cap she'd been wearing all night suddenly made sense. She wasn't a player either.

"You don't play?" I asked.

"Nah. Just here for the snacks." She grinned. "And to meet new people. You're the only one who hasn't talked about their batting average all night."

For the first time all semester, I stopped running. The orange hoodie still glowed like a traffic cone, but for once, I didn't care.