of the window was absolutely deafening.

But the view was quite spectacular, thanks to the Trembullen home game.

The stadium glowed from the towering spotlights, illuminating the team practicing on the field and a throng of tailgaters shotgunning beers in the parking lot. The Friday game came fast and started in less than ten minutes.

Here I was. Stuck in the studio, trying to finish this project, and running incredibly behind. It did not look like I was going to make it to the tailgate, let alone the first inning.

If I were painting on my schedule, I would stare at this canvas and add minor details until I was too exhausted (or indifferent) to add anything more. Though, today, I had no choice. Whatever I added within the next ten minutes would be on the drying rack, waiting to be graded tomorrow morning. My last brush stroke would mark the beginning of summer. I could barely contain my excitement.

Soon I would be sleeping in every day, painting on my own accord, and not dealing with silly assignments or finals. Even though the heat was a menace, summer was always peaceful. I could not wait to spend those long days waiting for the sun to set at nine-thirty at night with Elijah.

I smiled at her text and replied I would be down in ten minutes, whether the project felt complete or not. Just before I put my phone away, I spotted an email alert buried beneath other home-screen notifications which said 'twenty-seven minutes ago.'

_______________________________________

[email protected]

[email protected]

Home Run for you

Dear Miss Sadie Lane AKA Van Gogh AKA my girlfriend,

I'm contacting you today with an offer.

If you come to the dugout and give me a good luck kiss, I'll hit you a home run today. Even if you don't come, I'll always hit a home run for you.

Your Stalker,

Elijah

_______________________________________

I clicked on the attachment, and Elijah appeared on my screen, pristine in his baseball uniform. My heart swelled like a hot air balloon, and so did my smile, then deflated within the same minute.

He was on the field now, which meant his phone was in the locker room, and it was too late to meet him at the dugout for a good luck kiss. Of course, I didn't get the notification in time, and he probably thought I was ignoring him.

Ten minutes later, I said, "Okay, I am officially done with you," and dragged out the vowels. It gave me a couple more seconds to add white paint along the tops of my clouds. Then, I dropped my brush into my water cup and clasped my hands together.

I would clean this mess up in record time, change into the extra jersey I stole from Elijah's baseball bag (which he had no idea about), and head to the field with the girls. Though, a bittersweet feeling combed through me as I put away my paints and laid my canvas on the drying rack.

From freshman to (almost) senior year, the studio held a different meaning. Somehow the earthy oils, wooden smell, and sound of bristles on a canvas reminded me of Elijah. Hell, even the window reminded me of Elijah.

Part of me hated how attached I felt, but I also liked the tiny reminders of him.

After washing the paint off my hands, I unzipped my backpack, and my stomach dropped.

The jersey was not in there.

No, no, no, this was not happening.

I dug around as if this was a Mary Poppins bag, and somehow, if I reached deep enough, I would magically materialize a large blue and white jersey from the bottom. That did not happen because I left the shirt at my apartment.

I pressed my balled fists to my eyes and exhaled through pursed lips, attempting to calm myself. How had I managed to leave the one thing I was supposed to wear today at the apartment?

I thanked Reva and dashed for my car. Despite her telling me to drive safe, I made it home in ten minutes. I almost twisted an ankle running up the flight of stairs and into our apartment toward my bedroom. It was precisely where I left it, lying on my bed.

I hobbled around my room, yanking my shirt over my head and replacing it with the jersey. I drew the number twenty-one on my cheeks with a black eyeliner pencil and made it back to my car in record time.

The jersey was long enough to cover most of my jean shorts. The twenty-one on my back was large enough for the students of Trumbullen to read clearly, which was all I wanted because I was Elijah Preston's girlfriend.

Girlfriend. The word felt foreign, even to think.

My nerves were getting the best of me because this was the first time I would be in public as his girlfriend. Nobody knew about us yet (aside from our close friends). Since he was a household Trembullen player, people were bound to talk about the girl wearing his jersey, with his number written all over her face.

If I had been ready earlier, this wouldn't have been a problem because the plan was to walk into the stadium with a group of girls where I could be hidden by a crowd. Now, I was going to show up in the middle of the game, where everyone was seated, and give them the perfect view of Sadie Garner in her Elijah Preston merchandise.

Talk about an entrance.

My turn signal clicked as I merged onto the highway. My jaw almost hit the steering wheel when I was met with a line of cars. "Are you kidding me!" I screamed, staring at the traffic spanning at least two miles.

The universe did not want me going to this game.

I told Reva I was going to be extra late and sent a text to Elijah to let him know, despite him not having access to his phone.

The next best thing I could do was tune in on the radio, hoping I would not miss any home runs. "And Martinez makes it home! One point to Carlson University." The announcer called, and I sighed. The other team was batting.

With every inch forward, the urge to turn back to my apartment grew stronger because sitting in traffic did nothing but rile up my thoughts.

How had I gotten here?

This profound, airy feeling ebbed throughout my body and replaced the dense weight that had been there before. While I could give some of the credit to Elijah, I had to give myself more because I had come this far alone.

I was no longer a moth flying aimlessly in circles, chasing fading lights. There was an unmistakable glow at the end of the tunnel, guiding me in the right direction toward him.

So, I kept moving forward until I was out of traffic and pulling into a parking space at the field.

It was almost the sixth inning, and everyone was packed in the seats like sardines. The uproar was more deafening than the tailgate this past afternoon.

The moment my foot crossed the threshold, salty and sweet scent wafted into my nose. People stumbled up the stairs, holding the culprits of the aroma—beer, hot dogs, popcorn, cotton candy. The announcers hyped up the crowd as the organ plunked out notes to the baseball charge song.

I made it to the top of the bleachers and looked down at my friends sitting a couple of rows above the left infield. Lucy had a beer in hand, and Iya and Tasha shared a bucket of popcorn. Reva and Penelope munched on a soft pretzel beside the empty seat I was supposed to be in by now. Instead, I was beyond tardy and annoyed.

But when I saw him in his usual position between second and third base, all my gloom melted away.

Elijah squatted. His tight, white pants were stained brown and green from the field, and his face paint was streaky from his sweat, albeit he still looked handsome. Yet, his expression was stoic, and I could only imagine why he looked that way.

Maybe because his girlfriend promised she would be cheering him on today. Instead, I was nearly an hour and a half late.

Before I got to my seat, students broke their necks to look at me and whispered behind my back felt like I was back in high school. The hairs on my neck stood, but I ignored the onlookers and kept pace in my best friend's direction. They had enough to talk about behind my back, especially with Elijah's number plastered across my shoulders and cheekbones.

Reva sprang to her feet when she saw me. "You made it!" She threw her arms around my neck and whispered, "Elijah keeps looking over here for you."

"He probably thinks I ghosted him."

"No, Sade, he'll understand. Anyway, you're here now."

I greeted everyone else with an air-hug and sat snugly in my seat. Elijah did not look in my direction once until the teams switched and Jayce was up to bat.

Lucy was on the edge of her seat. I shared a look with Iya, never having seen our friend so excited over baseball. She was clapping her hands and shouting, "Let's go!" Off the top of her lungs.

Then, Jayce swung. "Lawson hits the first pitch! Two nothing Trembullen with back-to-back doubles from Lawson and Turner."

We leaped to our feet and chanted Jayce's name. Lucy waved her make-shift sign decorated with his baseball number and almost whacked the students sitting behind us. I apologized as Jayce's foot made it safely to second base. Then, Elijah's name was announced.

Every nerve in my body buzzed.

Elijah strode onto home plate and looked directly at me.

The apples of his cheeks rose, and the biggest smile danced on his face as he pointed into the stands, his finger landing on me. He tipped his chin upward and then pressed two fingers to his beautiful lips.

I knew that was his way of saying hello, and everything was okay between us.

Giddy with delight, I pressed my fingers to my lips and sent a good luck kiss back across the field, one I did not get to give before the game.

He readjusted his glove and bat and honed in on the pitcher. I didn't bother acknowledging the crowd (that looked like a cluster of Owls) who turned their heads to see who Elijah Preston motioned at. I filled my eyes with him only.

"Come on, hit a home run for me," I whispered, sitting on the edge of the plastic seat. My thumbs twiddled back and forth, and my leg found a perfect bouncing rhythm as I waited for him to swing.

And my man did what he did best.

In one swift motion, he drew his arm back and obliterated the first ball that barreled toward him, sending it over the heads of the players in our field. "Preston sends the ball deep into right field... And the ball is gone! Trembullen is on the board, 3-2 home run for Elijah Preston."

I was on my feet before I realized it. My palms stung from clapping, and my throat burned from screaming his name, just as I did in my living room in front of Lucy and Iya. Except for this time, half the student body saw.

"Holy shit! He hits home runs every time!"

"He's definitely going into the big leagues."

"He's hot. I heard he's single."

That time, it was my turn to gawk. "He's not single, actually," I said to the girls behind me before facing forward, making sure to flip my hair over my shoulder so they saw the big twenty-one on my back. Reva grinned in my periphery, and I held back my laughter. He was not single because I was his girlfriend.

The stadium boomed with celebration as Elijah ran home. His teammates patted him on the back while the announcer continued boasting about his slew of home runs this season. Amidst the chaos and his bouncing, enthusiastic crew, he faced me again and put his hand on his heart.

The next three innings soared, and Elijah was last to bat.

They were tied 4-4, but I had hoped Trembullen would win, especially with Elijah batting last.

Jayce was on third, and another player was on first. If Eli hit one more home run, he would send everyone back to home base, earning three points. If he did not hit one, Trembullen would receive at least one point from Jayce reaching home plate, and the game would end in a walk-off, meaning Trembullen would win.

I could almost hear the victory chants.

There was something different about Elijah today. Something lighter.

He was carefree on the field. Had he finally rediscovered the enjoyment of playing baseball without worrying about it controlling his future? Whatever the reason was, I loved watching him play.

The pitcher threw, and Elijah didn't swing.

Deafening silence came from the crowd as we waited for the second pitch.

Elijah readjusted his stance and twisted his right foot in the dirt. I chanted as the ball was launched into the air before Elijah swung and sent it flying across the field again.

The stadium stood simultaneously.

"Elijah whips a ball into deep right field! It bounces off the fence... Lawson, on the move, makes it back to home plate safe! Porter safe on third, and Preston reaches second. One run from a single by Elijah Preston! Trembullen secures their win with a score of 5-4, ending the game!"

The entire Trembullen team charged from the dugout onto the field, pulling each other into a cluster hug while bouncing up and down. I lost sight of Elijah in the mass.

My feet froze as the win settled in. Excitement surged through me, and I was soon shouting and hugging the girls.

"Sade." Iya tapped my arm mid-hug and pointed over my shoulder.

I whirled around and noticed Elijah jogging across the field in my direction. My heart crashed in a crazy rhythm, and before I could tell them, my legs carried me down the bleacher stairs. I met Elijah near home plate, where the railing was shorter, and he could reach me.

He hoisted me by my arms and brought me onto the field beside him. His hand splayed across my lower back, pulling me against his body. "You came," he said over the noise. "And you're wearing my jersey."

"I am."

"I thought you weren't coming."

"I had a wild day." I rolled my eyes. "I was running late finishing my project, I forgot your jersey in my bedroom, so I had to drive back, and then I got stuck in traffic."

"I was wondering where my jersey went. When did you become a thief? You've stolen my crewneck and jersey now."

"I plan to ransack your closet until you have nothing to wear."

"You don't have to steal my close to get me naked, baby." He nipped my earlobe, and I squealed and pushed against his chest. Suddenly, everyone surrounding us faded into oblivion, and it was only Elijah and me.

"You know I wouldn't miss your game for the world."

His face brightened, cheeks dimpled, and I scrunched my nose when his grazed mine. He held the small of my back, his other hand secured around the back of my neck. I felt his heart beat against my own chest. Or that might have been my own.

The wind blew my hair awry, and he brushed it away from our faces.

The last thing I saw was his smile before closing the space between us, kissing me, and claiming me before everyone. Wooing, whistling, and applauding erupted, and I chuckled against his lips, feeling content in his arms.

At that moment, I realized there was no art to falling in love.

It did not come with a set of new brushes, full paint tubes, or pristine canvases. And it certainly did not come with a prompt to follow, but instead, challenges to overcome.

Regardless of falling for someone, I discovered there was an art to love itself, and it started deep within me, and I merely needed to find it.

And I finally had.