When the Cat Stole Home

Maya's dad had been dropping baseball puns for three straight days. "This is your time to step up to the plate," he'd said at breakfast. "Don't strike out on this opportunity."

She was fourteen, technically allowed to be nervous, but her parents were treating her move from California to Madrid like some grand adventure instead of what it actually felt like: social suicide. She'd left behind her travel softball team, her best friend Chloe, and basically her entire personality.

Now she stood in a奇怪的 padel court at the international school, watching this weird Spanish sport that looked like tennis and squash had a baby. Padel racquets were perforated. Who even knew that was a thing?

"You're Maya, right?"

A girl with curly hair pulled into an impossibly messy bun stood there, holding a papaya smoothie like it was a normal thing to drink at 10 AM. "I'm Sofía. You play baseball? That's so... American."

"Softball," Maya corrected, then immediately wanted to punch herself. Way to sound defensive on day one.

Sofía laughed. "My cousin's obsessed with baseball. He plays fantasy league and thinks he's basically a scout. Anyway, want to hit some?"

They played. Maya was terrible at padel — the walls confused her, and she kept hitting the ball directly into them like an idiot. But Sofía didn't make her feel stupid. She kept making jokes about how padel was basically "tennis for people who can't commit to the full court."

Afterward, they sat on a bench outside the school. Maya felt something furry brush against her ankle.

A calico cat emerged from the bushes, looked at her with yellow eyes, and deposited a dead lizard at her feet.

"That's gata," Sofía said. "She lives here. She brings gifts to people she likes."

Maya looked at the cat, then at Sofía, then back at the lizard situation. "This is... disgusting?"

"It's an honor." Sofía grinned. "Hey, you want to come over? My abuela makes this papaya dessert that'll change your life. We can talk about how much padel sucks."

Maya realized she was smiling. "Baseball season's starting back home," she said quietly. "I usually spend all spring at the field."

"We'll find you a team here," Sofía said. "Or you can just keep playing padel badly with me. Either way, you're not doing it alone."

The cat wound around Maya's legs, purring like a tiny motor. She thought about the smoothie, the messy bun, the terrible sport she'd somehow agreed to play again tomorrow.

Maybe this wasn't strike three. Maybe it was just a really weird first pitch.

"Your abuela's dessert," Maya said. "Does it have chunks of real fruit? Because I have standards."

Sofía laughed. "You'll survive. Come on, new best friend. Let's go get you some papaya."