Three Strikes and a Storm

The batting cage hummed with that electric-metallic sound, each swing sending vibrations up my arms. I adjusted my grip on the bat, sweat slicking my palms.

"You're thinking too hard, Maya," Jake said from behind the chain-link fence. I could feel his eyes on me, which was exactly why I'd invited him here. This was supposed to be my moment—me crushing it at the cages, looking effortless and cool. Instead, I'd already whiffed three times like a total clown.

"I'm not," I lied, wiping my hands on my jeans. "Just warming up."

The sky chose that moment to crack open. A jagged streak of lightning split the clouds like something out of a movie, followed immediately by thunder that rattled my teeth.

"Whoa," Jake said, stepping back. "Maybe we should—"

But I was already stepping into the box, determined to get at least ONE solid hit before we bolted. The pitching machine whirred, sending another baseball hurtling toward me. I swung—

CLANG. The ball ricocheted off the metal pole beside me, bouncing wildly across the concrete.

"Okay, that's definitely our sign to leave," Jake laughed, grabbing my elbow as another lightning flash turned the whole parking lot purple. We ran toward his car through the sudden downpour, soaked through in seconds.

"Wait!" I yelled, darting back toward the bench where I'd left my backpack. Inside, in a plastic bag from the carnival earlier, was a single goldfish—my prize from the ring toss. The carnival worker had looked at me with such pity when I'd insisted on playing alone, and now this stupid fish was swimming in circles, completely unaware that its new owner was a disaster.

"What are you doing?" Jake called from the shelter of his car's open door.

"Saving Gary!" I grabbed my bag and scrambled into the passenger seat, dripping everywhere. Gary the goldfish swam calmly in his temporary home, oblivious to the fact that I'd just made a complete fool of myself in front of the guy I'd been trying to impress for months.

Jake started the car, then looked over at me, really looked at me, with rain plastering my hair to my forehead and my mascara probably running down my face. And then he started laughing—not mean laughing, but genuine, shoulder-shaking laughter that made his eyes crinkle.

"What?" I said, defensive, clutching Gary's bag.

"You're ridiculous," he said, but he was smiling. "Like, actually ridiculous. You're out here swinging at baseballs during a lightning storm for a fish named Gary?"

"He needed a home!"

"Maya," he said softly, and something shifted in his voice. "You could've just talked to me, you know. You didn't need to impress me at batting cages. I already think you're cool."

Outside, the storm raged. Inside Jake's car, Gary swam in his small plastic universe, and I felt something warm and terrifying blossom in my chest—maybe the feeling of being seen, really seen, and not found wanting. Maybe the beginning of something real.

"So," I said, trying to sound casual. "You want to help me find Gary a proper tank?"

Jake grinned, putting the car in gear. "Only if you promise to never take me batting cages in a thunderstorm again."

"Deal."

Lightning flashed again as we pulled onto the road, but this time, I didn't flinch.