The Sphinx of Center Field

My hair was supposed to be a subtle trim. Just clean up the edges, my mom said. Instead, I walked out of Supercuts looking like a terrified hedgehog.

"Dude, what happened?" Marcus asked when I met him at the park. "You look like you stuck a fork in an electrical socket."

"Shut up," I muttered, pulling my Yankees cap lower. "It'll grow back."

Today was tryouts for the travel baseball team, and I was already nervous. Now I had this mess on my head. Marcus, naturally, looked perfect — his curls strategically messy, his uniform crisp.

Then I saw her. Riley. The Sphinx of East High. She sat in the bleachers, notebook in hand, watching everything with those unreadable dark eyes. We called her "the Sphinx" because nobody knew what she was thinking — ever. She could be laughing at you or plotting your demise, and you'd never know the difference.

"She's totally looking at your hair," Marcus whispered.

"You're literally the worst friend ever," I said, though my stomach did that annoying flip thing.

Coach blew his whistle. "Baserunning drills! Let's go!"

I'd been running sprints since February. I was ready. Until my feet hit the dirt and my brain short-circuited. I tripped over second base. Face-planted. Skidded three feet in the infield clay.

Complete silence.

Then laughter. Not mean laughter — just everybody losing it because, honestly, it was hilarious. I spat dirt. My cap had flown off. My disastrous hair was on full display for the Sphinx herself.

I sat up, ready to die of embarrassment.

Riley was laughing too. Not quietly. Full-on bent-over, can't-breathe laughing. She caught my eye and didn't look away. "Your hair!" she called out. "It's got personality now!"

And somehow that made it better. The team assistant coach helped me up, slapping my back. "Nice slide, catastrophe kid. You're in."

After tryouts, Riley was still there.

"So," she said, falling into step beside me. "That was pretty legendary."

"Legendary bad?"

"Just legendary." She smiled — an actual, real smile. "I'm Riley."

"Leo."

"Well, Leo," she said, "I've got this assignment to write about personal growth through embarrassing moments. And I think you just inspired my entire essay."

"Great," I said. "My humiliation, your English homework."

"Tell you what," she said. "I'll help you with your hair situation if you help me with my stats project. Deal?"

"Deal."

Maybe the hedge look wasn't so bad after all.