The Seventh Inning Splash

Jake pulled his baseball cap low, trying to disappear into the bleachers. This was stupid—coming to the game alone, pretending he was part of the crowd when everyone else was in their little squads. His phone buzzed. *u coming or what?* from Marcus. Jake typed out *yeah almost there* then deleted it.

He wasn't almost anywhere. He was here, sweating through his shirt, watching his crush Maya laugh with her friends two rows down.

"Yo, nice hat," someone said.

Jake flinched. A guy with perfectly faded denim and that effortless confidence Jake had been trying to fake for three years stood there. "Vintage?"

"Uh, yeah. My dad's."

"Sick." The guy nodded approvingly and moved on. Jake's face burned.

Then something hit his ankle.

A dog. Not like, a cute purse dog—a massive, slobbering beast that looked like it had escaped from a farm. It nosed Jake's shoe with determination.

"Hey buddy," Jake whispered. "You lost too?"

The dog made a sound like a garbage disposal and sat on his foot. Weight. Solid, uncomplicated, warm weight.

The game continued. Someone hit a home run. The crowd roared. Maya laughed at something her friend said, throwing her head back.

Jake's phone buzzed again. Marcus. *bro where r u*

He stared at it. The dog huffed and leaned into his leg, and suddenly Jake couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't do the performance, the endless choreography of acting like he belonged when he felt like he was watching everything through thick glass.

His eyes burned. That was happening. The thing he'd been avoiding since graduation started, since the future became a real and terrifying thing instead of some distant concept.

He grabbed his water bottle, intending to take a drink, but his hands were shaking. The lid wasn't on right.

Water everywhere. All over his jeans, all over the dog.

The dog shook itself like it had just gone swimming. Water sprayed Maya's row.

Silence. Then Maya turned, saw him. Saw the mess, the dog, the absolute train wreck of a human being currently marinating in sports drink.

She smiled. Not fake polite smile. Real.

"That's Charlie," she said. "He belongs to the coach. He always escapes during home games."

The dog, apparently named Charlie, chose that moment to lick Jake's entire face.

"Sorry," Jake choked out.

"Don't be." Maya grabbed her backpack. "Hey, you want to get out of here? There's this boba place—"

"Yes." Too fast. Way too fast.

She laughed again, and this time Jake was close enough to see the little crinkles by her eyes.

"Okay then. Let's go." She paused. "Nice hat, by the way."

Jake pulled the brim lower, hiding the fact that he was grinning like an idiot. Charlie followed them both, like he'd known this was the plan all along.