The Palm Tree Strikeout

The summer humidity clung to me like a second skin as I stood in Melissa's backyard, clutching a red solo cup like it was a lifeline. My palms were sweating so much I was genuinely worried about dropping my phone into the pool.

"dude you good?" Marcus asked, already three cups deep. "you look like you're about to puke."

"m fine," I lied, my voice cracking. Classic. I was trying to work up the courage to talk to Maya—gorgeous, smart, completely out of my league Maya—while simultaneously trying to ignore the fact that I had something green stuck in my braces.

Jake's golden retriever, Buster, trotted over with a soggy tennis ball, dropping it at my feet and staring up with those puppy dog eyes that could solve climate change if properly deployed. I patted his head, my hand coming away with dog hair that now decorated my black skinny jeans. Perfect.

Then I saw Maya. She was near the snack table, laughing at something her friends were saying. I took a breath and made my move, walking over with what I hoped was casual confidence.

"hey maya," I said, trying to sound chill. "what's up"

She turned, and her smile practically knocked the wind out of me. "oh hey sam! what're you up to?"

"just you know, hanging out," I managed, leaning against the table. "cool party"

Then it happened. I smiled, and apparently some spinach from dinner chose that exact moment to make its debut from my teeth. Maya's eyes flickered to my mouth, and I watched in real time as her expression shifted from friendly to barely-contained laughter.

"you uh," she started, then stopped. "you have a little..."

Before I could die of embarrassment, Jake called out from across the yard: "YO SAM! baseball game starting, you in?"

I had never been more grateful for a sports invitation in my life.

"yeah totally," I said, already speed-walking toward the makeshift field. "catch you later maya"

"see ya," she called, still grinning.

Later that night, as I brushed my teeth for the fifth time and flossed like my life depended on it, I got a text:

*maya: btw the spinach thing was actually kind of adorable*

I stared at my phone, my palms sweating again, but this time for a completely different reason.

*me: haha thanks. you wanna hang out this weekend?*

*maya: sure :)*

I fell asleep with dog hair still on my jeans and baseball grass stains on my shoes, grinning like an idiot.

Sometimes the strikeouts turn into home runs. Eventually.