The Strikeout That Saved Me

I stood against the chain-link fence, clutching my **iphone** like it was my only lifeline. Which, honestly, it kinda was. Ella was pitching today—her curly ponytail swinging like a metronome behind home plate—and I'd been practicing what to text her afterward for three days. Literally three whole days.

The baseball field smelled like cut grass and teenage sweat. Mason from my history class was up to bat, looking entirely too confident for someone who'd struck out twice already. I was safely tucked in the outfield bleachers, invisible, just another background character in someone else's movie.

Until it happened.

Mason's bat connected with the ball—a solid, satisfying crack—and suddenly I was scrambling backward, phone still clutched in my hand, as the baseball came sailing directly toward my face. I tripped over someone's backpack and crashed into the **water** cooler behind the bleachers. Ice-cold Gatorade splashed everywhere. My hoodie soaked. My dignity? Gone.

"Yo, you good?"

I looked up to see Ella standing there, still in her pitching gear, holding the baseball that had nearly rearranged my features. Behind her trotted this massive, drooly **dog**—some kind of golden retriever mix that had evidently escaped from the nearby park.

"That's Buster," Ella said, like this was normal information to share while I was dripping blue electrolytes. "He belongs to the coach."

The dog nudged my soaked arm with his wet nose and I swear he looked sympathetic.

"Your screen's cracked," Ella noticed.

"Yeah, but my face isn't, so... win?" I said, and she actually laughed.

"Wanna help me find Buster's leash? He's slippery when he wants attention."

We spent the next twenty minutes chasing that dog around the baseball field while everyone else kept playing like two random teens and one escaped golden retriever weren't creating chaos in the outfield. My hoodie stayed soaked. My phone stayed cracked. But somehow, somewhere between Ella wiping Gatorade off my elbow with her sleeve and both of us collapsed on the grass laughing while Buster finally let us catch him, I forgot all about my perfectly crafted text.

Sometimes the worst moments become the best stories. Sometimes you have to get completely soaked in front of your crush to realize she's actually just another awkward human being holding a baseball and trying her best.

"Same time next week?" Ella asked as we walked back.

"Only if you promise not to hit any more balls at my head."

She grinned. "No promises. But I'll bring extra Gatorade."