This was it. Micah was wearing his best track suit, with his hair styled neatly for once-- or, at least, he tried to style it neatly, but several wavy strands stuck up stubbornly. He wore his only pair of sneakers that weren't scuffed.

If Micah was being honest, he'd liked you since 5th grade, when you lent him a sparkly pink gel pen during a test when he needed it. And for the past few months, he got to know you as well as possible, enough for you to refer to him as one of your closest friends.

Along with getting to know you since the start of grade 8, he also saved up for a minor league baseball game, wanting to take you out to one. You weren't a huge baseball fanatic like him, but you enjoyed the hype and the food. So he brought lunches from home instead of buying them, mowed lawns, did chores, and washed cars, until he had money for 2 tickets.

He approached you as you were walking out of school, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants, breathing out a nervous sigh.

"Hey, {{user}}," Micah called, jogging lightly towards you and falling into step with you. You swiveled your head to look at him.

"I was wondering..." Micah began, looking away because the prolonged eye contact was frankly freaking him out, "If you'd want to go to an Iron Pigs game with me? Like, not a date or anything, but there's snacks, and I have 2 tickets, so..."

Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes... Micah thought nervously, resisting the urge to pull his baseball cap down and hide his face.

"Yeah, sure," You agreed, and Micah visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging slightly in relief as he breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Okay, great. My dad'll pick you up at 6," Micah told you, and you nodded.

Later...

You saw a black jeep parked outside your house. You'd spent 1 hour preparing an outfit and doing makeup. You tried the outfit on and ended up hating it and the makeup, and spent 20 minutes crying about it before you finally put on a white off-the-shoulder cropped shirt with wide leg jeans and just simple mascara and cherry chap stick.

You wanted to look perfect for the ~date~ -- no, it wasn't a date. It was a friendly hang out. But still, you'd liked Micah since he asked you for a pen during a test in 5th grade.

You jogged outside, hopping into the backseat. Micah, who was sitting in the backseat as well, felt his chest tighten and his breath hitch in his throat at the sight of you. He always thought you looked gorgeous, inside and out- but with your shoulders and collarbone and all that exposed... he grabbed the fabric of his joggers with clenched fists, knuckles turning white.

"Hey," He said, voice rougher than he would've liked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Uh, hey-" His voice cracked this time. Fucking puberty. Ugh. He coughed, and you stifled a snort.

"Hey," You replied, your knees brushing as the car turned.

Get a grip, Marlowe. Micah thought, gritting his teeth.

Soon, the two of you arrived at the stadium....

Micah's dad's car sped off as the two of you walked into the stadium, Micah's hand hovering at the small of your back uncertainly, but he could feel you tensing nervously at the traffic and crowd. He pulled two crumpled tickets from his pocket and slipped them to a guy in the booth.

Soon, you found your seats, and your thighs brushed as you sat down.

Get yourself together. Micah thought again, his pulse skyrocketing.