The Shoreline Signal

Maya gripped her iPhone like a lifeline, thumbs hovering over Instagram as she stood at the edge of Reynolds Park. The spring baseball game was in full swing—literally. Ethan's team was crushing it, and every time he slid into home plate, a small chorus of girls erupted in cheers. Maya should've been cheering too. That's what girlfriends did, right?

But she'd been frozen at this friendship-something-or-other threshold for three months now, and the pressure to make it official was making her chest tight. The only person who seemed immune to all the relationship drama was Old Man Miller's calico cat, Fish, who currently lounged on the metal bleachers like she owned them.

Maya's phone buzzed. Jenna: "so are u guys dating or what??"

The question hit like a wave. She typed something, deleted it, typed again. Her charging cable was fraying anyway—just like her patience with this whole situation. A bead of water rolled down her temple; the mid-May heat wave was relentless.

Ethan jogged over between innings, wiping sweat with his jersey. "Hey."

"Hey."

"You okay? You look... tense."

Maya's heart did that stupid flutter thing. "Just hot."

"Wanna walk to the creek? There's a spot with shade."

Fish the cat opened one yellow eye as if to say, finally.

They walked in silence past the concession stand until the sounds of the game faded. The water babbled over smooth rocks, and Maya suddenly realized—this was it. The moment. If she didn't say something now, she'd spend another three months in relationship purgatory.

"Ethan?"

"Yeah?" He turned, and there it was—that look. The one that made her forget her own name sometimes.

"What are we?"

He blinked. A cardinal called from somewhere above. Then he smiled, small and genuine. "I was hoping you'd ask. I've been trying to figure out how to bring it up without being weird."

"So?"

"So I really like you, Maya. And I'm tired of pretending I don't."

Her phone buzzed again in her pocket. Jenna, definitely. She didn't check it. For once, the real thing was better than whatever was happening on screen.

"Me too," she said, and it came out easier than she'd expected. "Like, really."

Ethan took her hand—just like that, like they'd been doing it forever. Back at the field, the game continued. Fish had abandoned the bleachers for a patch of sunlight near third base. And somewhere between the creek and the concession stand, between the water cooler and the charging cable she kept forgetting to replace, Maya stopped waiting for the right moment and started living in it.