Three Strikes and a Flash

Jordan's pet goldfish, Admiral Bubbleworth III, floated near the glass of his bowl, staring at Jordan with what looked suspiciously like judgment.

"You're going, right?" Jordan whispered, not caring that he was talking to a fish. "If I bail, Maya will think I'm flaking. Again."

The Admiral blew a bubble.

Jordan's phone lit up. MAYA: *we're still good for the game? ryan's pitching btw*

Ryan. The reason Jordan was even considering attending a baseball game when he knew approximately zero things about sports and even less about baseball specifically. Ryan with the stupidly perfect hair and the grin that made Jordan's brain short-circuit like it had been hit by lightning.

"Fine," Jordan told the fish. "But if I embarrass myself, it's on you."

* * *

The baseball field smelled like cut grass and teenage awkwardness. Maya found Jordan immediately, dragging him toward the bleachers where Ryan's friends sat.

"Jordan!" Maya's eyes were way too bright. "You made it!"

"Wouldn't miss it." Jordan's voice cracked slightly. Smooth.

Ryan pitched. Jordan had to admit—there was something mesmerizing about it. The way Ryan's arm extended, the focus in his eyes, the absolute certainty when the ball left his hand. Strike one. Strike two. Strike three. The other team didn't stand a chance.

"He's good," Jordan heard himself say.

"The best," Maya agreed. Then she grinned. "You should talk to him after."

"What? No. Absolutely not."

"Why not? He's been looking at you like, the whole game."

Jordan's heart did something genuinely concerning. "He has not."

"Has too. I caught him checking you out when he thought no one was watching. It's weirdly cute."

* * *

Then came the lightning.

It didn't strike the field—thank god—but the flash was close enough that everyone flinched. The umpire suspended the game. Parents and teammates scattered toward the parking lot.

"Jordan!" Maya was already backing away toward her mom's car. "Ryan's over by the dugout! GO!" And then she was gone, abandoning him like the absolute worst and best friend in the world.

Ryan stood alone, his gear bag slung over one shoulder, rain beginning to fall.

"Hey," Jordan said, before he could talk himself out of it. His voice didn't crack. Small victories.

Ryan turned, and Jordan forgot how to words.

"Hey." Ryan's grin was tired but real. "You're Jordan, right? Maya's friend?"

"That's me. The friend."

"You, uh." Ryan shifted his weight. "You were watching me pitch."

"I mean. Yeah. You're kind of insane at it."

"Thanks." The rain picked up. Ryan didn't move. "Hey, so, this is random, but do you want to get food? There's this place downtown, they have these—you're gonna laugh—really good garlic knots."

Jordan's brain short-circuited again. genuinely. "Yes. Like, a thousand percent yes."

"Cool." Ryan's smile widened. "Cool."

As they ran toward Ryan's truck through the rain, Jordan thought about Admiral Bubbleworth III floating in his bowl, judging him from across the room.

Maybe the fish had been rooting for him all along.