Three Strikes at Sunset

The baseball stadium lights flickered on as the sun dipped behind the bleachers, painting everything in shades of burning orange. I sat sandwiched between Jordan and her annoying little brother, who kept accidentally elbowing me in the ribs every time someone swung a bat.

Dude, just text him already, Jordan whispered, nudging me with her shoulder. You've been staring at your iPhone like it holds the secrets to the universe for three innings.

I unlocked it again, even though I knew there were no new notifications. Just the same nothing from Tyler, who'd sat behind me in algebra since September and had finally asked for my number yesterday. My thumb hovered over our chat, wondering if texting first was desperate or forward or somehow both at once.

I can't, I muttered. What if he thinks I'm being weird?

My mom got a goldfish when she was our age, Jordan's brother piped up, completely unprovoked. She named him Bubbles. He lived for seven years.

Why are you like this? Jordan asked, but I was already laughing. The tension in my chest loosened, just a little.

The home team's batter connected with the ball—a solid crack that echoed through the stadium. The crowd erupted as it sailed toward the outfield. I stood up with everyone else, my heart suddenly racing for a different reason.

My iPhone buzzed in my hand.

Hey, Tyler had texted. This game is kinda boring without someone to talk to. Where you sitting?

I turned to Jordan with what must have been the most unhinged grin in the history of baseball. She rolled her eyes but was already shoving her brother toward the concession stand.

Go, she said. We'll get pretzels. And if you come back without at least his Instagram, you're dead to me.

The goldfish story still echoed in my head as I climbed the bleachers, seven years of swimming in circles before needing to be brave. Tonight felt like breaking the surface, finally, finally breathing air.

I found Tyler in row 23, exactly where he'd said he'd be, and when he smiled at me like he'd been waiting, I knew this wasn't going to be another swing and miss.