The Sphinx's Strikeout

The sphinx statue in Central Park had seen better days. Its nose was gone, chipped away years ago, and someone had drawn sharpie eyebrows on it. But it was where Maya went when life hit her like a bad pitch.

"Strikeout looking," she muttered, pulling her baseball cap down low. "Again."

She'd frozen at the plate. Twice. The varsity coach was watching, and Maya had choked. Hard. Now she was hiding behind a stone sphinx like a loser.

A noise behind her made her jump. A calico cat trotted out from the bushes, tail held high like it owned the place.

"Great," Maya said. "Now I'm being judged by a cat."

The cat rubbed against her leg, purring like a tiny engine. Maya's fingers found the worn spot on her hat—her dad's old Yankees cap, the one she'd worn to every game since middle school. Her lucky hat. Some luck it had been today.

"You play?" A voice made her jump.

Ryan. The Sphinx. That's what everyone called him because the guy was unreadable—a senior, the team's star pitcher, handsome in that way that made everything seem easy. He stood there holding his glove, looking unexpectedly... normal.

"I," Maya started, then stopped. Why lie? "I sucked."

Ryan nodded. "Happens."

"To you?" It came out more skeptical than she'd intended.

He laughed. "Last year. Regional finals. Bases loaded. I walked in the winning run. Sat right where you're sitting, actually." He gestured at the sphinx. "This guy's a good listener."

The cat chose that moment to hop onto the sphinx's head and sit there like it was a throne. Both of them cracked up.

"That's":" Maya laughed, "that's ridiculous."

"You coming to practice?" Ryan asked. "Coach is working us on sliders."

Maya looked at her worn hat, then at the ridiculous cat-sphinx combo, then at Ryan—not the untouchable senior star, but someone who'd sat in this exact spot and felt the same way.

"Yeah," she said, pulling her cap straight. "Yeah, I'm coming."

The sphinx stayed expressionless as always, but Maya swore it looked kind of proud.