The Strikeout That Saved Me

I sat behind the dugout, my mittens (not the baseball kind—my actual cat was named Mittens, yeah, I know) curled in my lap as I scrolled through Instagram. There it was: another post of Jake and my ex-best-friend Chloe at some party I wasn't invited to. They looked perfect together, all golden hour lighting and matching smiles.

Jake, the star pitcher whose fastball had already broken three varsity records this season. Chloe, who'd decided somewhere between eighth grade graduation and freshman year that she was too cool for my queer awkward ass.

Mittens purred like a tiny engine, completely unaware that he was currently my only social life.

"Yo, you're Maya, right?"

I jumped. Mittens scrambled up my chest with claws that definitely didn't care about my favorite hoodie. Standing there was Riley, the catcher who'd transferred from our rival school three weeks ago. They had this effortlessly cool androgynous vibe that made my stomach do that annoying fluttery thing.

"Uh, yeah. You're... Riley?"

"They. And yeah." They flopped down beside me, not close enough to be weird but close enough that my brain short-circuited. "Jake's being a dick about warm-ups again. Needed a break."

We sat there for a second. I waited for them to leave, because cool people didn't hang out with weird cat girl behind the dugout.

"Your cat ate my homework last week," Riley said casually.

I blinked. "What?"

"Your cat. Mittens. He somehow got into the English classroom and shredded my essay about The Great Gatsby. Mr. Harrison almost cried." They grinned. "I was actually kinda impressed. That essay was garbage anyway."

I laughed before I could stop myself. And then we were talking—like, actually talking. About how much we both hated gym class (ironic, given they were a baseball star), about our shared obsession with this niche indie band, about how they'd moved here to live with their dad after coming out to their super conservative mom.

"You know," Riley said eventually, "Jake's an ass for what he did. With Chloe. You deserved better."

I stared. "How did you—"

"Small school." They nudged my shoulder. "Also, I saw you guys at the fall dance last year. You looked happy then."

The game was starting. Jake was pitching. Chloe was in the stands, wearing his varsity jacket.

And I was sitting behind the dugout with a cat and someone who actually saw me.

Riley stood up, dusting off their jeans. "Hey, you want to come to the arcade with me and some people after? We're gonna fail at DDR and eat too much junk food. No jocks invited."

I looked at the field, where Jake threw a strike that made the crowd go wild.

Then I looked at Riley, who was waiting for my answer like it actually mattered.

"Yeah," I said, gathering a very confused Mittens into my arms. "Yeah, I'd love that."

For the first time in months, I wasn't watching from the bleachers. I was in the game.