Coach Dan’s whistle had blown twenty minutes ago, but Yuwen was still here, dragging a heavy bucket of softballs back to the shed. Laurie walked a few feet behind him, quiet, fidgeting with the hem of her jersey. Kai was crouched near the bleachers, brushing dirt off a dropped glove.

“Can someone tell me why I’m the only one who got yelled at today?” Yuwen finally said, kicking the shed door open with his foot. “Like, sorry I have talent, my bad.”

Kai raised an eyebrow. “You also threw your glove when Rochelle missed the catch.”

Yuwen shrugged, dumping the bucket. “Dramatic flair.”

“You made Laurie cry,” Kai added, her voice softer.

Laurie blinked, cheeks flushed. “I didn’t— I wasn’t crying.”

“You were totally crying,” Yuwen said, not unkindly. Then, quieter, “Didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Laurie looked away. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t, and everyone knew it.

“Yuwen,” Kai said, crossing her arms. “You’ve been acting weird lately. You alright?”

“I’m great,” he said too fast, too loud. “Just living the dream. Best pitcher on the team, food truck prince, crowd favorite, you know how it is.”

Nobody responded.