Three Strikes at Sunset

The baseball field behind the rec center had seen better days, but that didn't stop Marcus from showing up every Friday. He wasn't even good — his batting average was tragic, and his coordination was basically a meme. But Maya was there, and apparently that was enough to make him embarrass himself weekly.

"Bro, you're literally swinging at air," Derek called from the dugout, cackling. "This isn't Wii Sports."

Marcus flipped him off, adjusting his sweaty palms on the bat. His hands shook every time Maya watched him. She sat in the bleachers with her friends, barely paying attention, but Marcus felt like he was performing at the freaking Oscars.

"Strike three!" someone yelled, and Marcus groaned. Of course. The story of his life.

After the game, everyone migrated to the beach. Marcus found himself alone near the water's edge, watching the sunset paint everything gold. That's when Maya appeared beside him.

"You know," she said, surprising him, "my grandma reads palms. She says the life line shows how long you'll live, but I think that's cap."

Marcus blinked. "Uh, what?"

Maya laughed, holding out her hand. "Show me your palm."

His heart did that anime protagonist thing where it practically jumped out of his chest. He extended his hand, and she studied it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Her finger traced the lines, sending electricity up his arm.

"Huh," she said. "You're going to do something big. I can feel it."

"I can barely hit a baseball," he mumbled.

"That's not what this says." She looked up, and her eyes caught the light like something out of a coming-of-age movie. "Some people just need the right moment."

The water lapped at their feet, cold and real and perfect. Marcus realized he'd been overthinking everything — the strikeouts, the awkwardness, the fear that everyone was secretly laughing at him. Maybe none of that mattered. Maybe the right moment was right now.

"Want to get food?" she asked. "There's that taco truck."

Marcus smiled, and for the first time all summer, it actually reached his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Some days you strike out. Some days, you don't even swing. But sometimes — just sometimes — you get exactly the moment you didn't know you were waiting for.