The Sphinx at Shortstop
The sphinx moth landed on my orange Gatorade bottle like it owned the place. I was sitting on the bench, third wheeling it while my ex-best friend Sasha laughed at something Tyler-the-baseball-captain said.
"You coming?" Tyler yelled, already heading toward the infield.
"Nah, I'm good," I said, fake-casual. Because nothing says 'I'm totally fine with you replacing me' like watching from the sidelines.
Sasha glanced back. Just for a second. But that fox-like smile of hers—had it always looked so guarded? Three weeks of hanging with the popular crowd and suddenly our inside jokes were ancient history.
The baseball field stretched out under August heat, haze making everything swimmy. Tyler's orange jersey stood out like a beacon. Everything about him was bright and loud and confident. The kind of person who didn't overthink every single interaction like I did.
"Maya!"
I jumped. Coach Miller was waving me over.
"We need a fourth for batting practice. You're up."
My stomach dropped. I hadn't swung a bat since seventh grade gym class.
Sasha turned around. Her eyes went wide.
I stepped up to the plate, heart hammering. The sphinx moth from earlier fluttered past, like it knew something I didn't.
First pitch: swing and miss. Humiliating.
Second pitch: foul tip. Better.
Third pitch: I don't know what happened. Maybe I stopped caring about looking stupid. Maybe I just got lucky. But the bat connected with a sound like thunder, and the ball sailed over left field like it had somewhere to be.
"YESSS!" Tyler whooped. Sasha was grinning, actually grinning, the real smile I hadn't seen in months.
"Where did THAT come from?" she called.
I shrugged, but I was smiling too. "Guess I'm full of surprises."
Walking back to the bench, Sasha fell into step beside me. "Hey."
"Hey."
"Wanna hang out after? Just us?"
The sphinx moth had disappeared, but whatever. I figured something out on that baseball diamond: sometimes you have to swing for the fences to remember who you are.
"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that."