Three Seconds

Maya's palms were sweating so much her phone nearly slipped out of her hand. Stupid nervous palms. She was practically vibrating beside the bleachers, watching Lucas stretch before his baseball game. His jersey said number 7, but in her head, he was number 1 on her list of problems she couldn't solve.

"You gonna talk to him or just stand there breathing heavy?" said Kenji, appearing beside her with two slushies.

"I'm not breathing heavy," Maya lied, definitely breathing heavy. "And I can't just talk to him. We don't run in the same circles. He's basically the king of this school, and I'm... I won a goldfish at the carnival last year and named it 'Survivor' because it refused to die. That's my vibe."

Kenji snorted blue slushie up his nose. "That goldfish lived for three years, Maya. That's not a vibe, that's emotional attachment."

The baseball game was tied in the bottom of the ninth. Lucas stepped up to bat, and Maya's heart did that thing where it forgot how to heart correctly. He hit the ball—crack, like the world splitting open—and started running. She'd never seen someone run like that, all powerful legs and determination, rounding first base like his life depended on it.

Then he looked up. Right at her.

Maya's palms went cold. Lucas was running straight toward the bleachers, not the bases. He'd hit a home run, apparently, because everyone was screaming, but he was dodging his team to get to her.

"Hey," he said, all out of breath from running. "I've been trying to talk to you for weeks. You always look like you're running away from something."

"I'm not," she said, then realized she was literally backing away. "Okay, maybe I am. A little."

"Cool." Lucas grinned. "Wanna go to the carnival next weekend? I heard they have goldfish as prizes. We can test our emotional attachment skills."

Maya looked at her sweaty palms, then at Lucas's hopeful face. "Yeah," she said, and finally stopped running away.