Water Fountain Confessions

The baseball diamond baked under the August sun like a giant frying pan, and I was the bacon sizzling on it. Third practice in a row, and my mom had shoved this giant vitamin D supplement at me that morning, claiming it would help with my 'athletic performance.' More like it made me feel like I was gonna barf every time I had to sprint to first base.

'You good, Holland?' Carlos called from shortstop, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his glove.

'Yeah,' I lied, though my vision was starting to get that swimmy quality. 'Just need water.'

The water fountain near the dugout was basically my sanctuary. The cool water hit my face like reality resetting itself. I stayed there longer than necessary, letting the droplets roll down my neck.

'You know,' a voice said behind me, 'if you keep standing there, people are gonna think you're having a religious experience.'

It was Maya from the softball team, leaning against the fence, drinking from her own bottle. Her uniform was dirt-stained and perfect, and my stomach did that thing it did whenever she was within twenty feet.

'Just hot,' I managed, though heat wasn't the real problem. 'And these vitamins my mom's making me take are messing with my head.'

She laughed, and something in my chest tightened. 'Parents, right? Mine tried to get me to drink this protein shake stuff last year. Said it would make me hit harder. I told her I'd rather eat dirt.'

'I'd rather eat dirt than keep pretending I know what I'm doing out there.' The words were out before I could stop them.

Maya's expression softened. 'Nobody knows what they're doing. We're all just faking it till we make it.' She paused. 'You're really good, though. I've watched you play.'

Heat rushed to my face, and not from the sun. 'You watch me play?'

'Sometimes.' A small smile. 'Your swing is kinda beautiful.'

The water fountain gurgled behind us like it knew something we didn't. For the first time all summer, the baseball diamond didn't feel like a prison. It felt like possibility.

'Maybe,' I said, 'after practice, you could help me with my swing?'

'I think,' she said, 'I could do that.'

And suddenly the vitamin-induced haze, the oppressive heat, the pressure to be perfect—it all faded into something manageable. Something good.