Page 200 of Left on Base

Jameson’s camel takes off at a trot with no warning, nearly launching him off like a rodeo clown. “Why is mine so fast?” he yells as King and Brynn’s camels saunter peacefully behind, looking like they’re in a romantic comedy.

Callie tries to take a selfie and almost drops her phone in the sand, shrieking loud enough to startle her camel into a weird, sideways shuffle.

Camdyn and I end up side by side, our camels plodding along at a dignified pace.

I reach over and squeeze her hand, grinning. “This is exactly what you had in mind for a romantic pre-season vacation, isn’t it?” I ask, trying to sound casual while also not falling off the world’s wobbliest animal.

“Oh yeah,” she says, giving her camel a gentle pat, her eyes dancing. Her hair glows in the sun, and for a second, the whole world feels like it’s paused for us.

“I can’t believe we’re trading all this”—I gesture at the endless dunes, the sun blazing overhead, Fork Guy in the distance attempting to read his camel’s tarot—“for cleats and early morning practices soon. Kinda don’t wanna go back yet.”

“I know what you mean.” She nudges me. “Have you thought anymore about the Braves?”

I nod, letting my hand find hers. “Coach Allen keeps bringing up the draft, too. Says I should be thinking about it. But… I dunno. I’m not ready. I want to finish school. I feel like if I take the offer too soon I’ll miss something important.” I glance around at all of it—this weird, beautiful chaos—and for the first time, it clicks. “I think this vacation was my mom’s way of saying it’s okay to be a kid still,” I tell Camdyn, the realization landing somewhere deep. “One last wild adventure before we’re back to schedules and pressure and everyone asking what’s next.”

Camdyn leans her head on my shoulder, camel and all, and smiles. “You’ll know when it’s right. Don’t rush it.”

She’s right. My parents are right too. There’s no need to enter the draft a year early. My education is just as important as baseball. For the first time in months, I actually let myselfbelieve that. I let myself enjoy this—her, this trip, the total absurdity of Fork Guy reciting poetry to a mildly offended camel.

For now, I’m a twenty year old college kid, on a camel, in the middle of the Dubai desert, holding the hand of the girl I love and letting the future wait its turn.

We ride together through the dunes, Fork Guy trailing behind us, offering to read the camels’ fortunes. “Habibi, you’re destined for greatness. And possibly a new saddle!” he proclaims as his camel sits down abruptly, sending him sliding half-off and clutching his tiara for dear life.

Eventually, Mom rounds us up for group photos at sunset—she insists on at least three “for safety.”

Fork Guy photobombs every single one, holding up a tarot card for the camera and declaring we’re “blessed by the universe and also by the presence of high-quality snacks.”

Jameson tries to convince his camel to follow him home, and King asks if camels are allowed in hotel pools. Brynn laughs and tells everyone she’s naming her next pet after their camel, “as long as it doesn’t spit.”

King, never missing his shot at lowbrow immortality, immediately pipes up with, “It’d be better if they swallowed like you.” And then winks at her.

Brynn rolls her eyes but she’s grinning. “You’re disgusting,” she says, swatting him on the shoulder.

King winks, no shame. “Hey, I’m just saying, less mess, more fun.”

Mom pretends not to hear, but there’s a twitch in her cheek that says she’s suppressing either a laugh or a lecture.

Fork Guy raises his hands and declares, “That’s what she said!” to a group of passing tourists who now think Americans are even weirder than they suspected.

Even the camels look unimpressed, but honestly? It wouldn’t be a group photo without at least one raunchy King-ism to immortalize the moment.

As the sun sinks behind the dunes and the desert cools, Camdyn leans into me and whispers, “Promise me we’ll remember this.”

I squeeze her hand, leaning in close so only she can hear me. “I can see your ass cheeks peeking outta your shorts. I plan on remembering every single second.” I nudge her playfully, lowering my voice and kissing up the side of her neck. “Maybe after everyone’s asleep, you and I can go for a ‘midnight ride’ of our own. I’m pretty sure I can show you a few things they don’t teach in the camel brochure.”

She laughs, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling in the last bit of sun. “Oh yeah?” she whispers back, but her fingers are already tracing slow circles on my palm. “I like the way you think.”

Fork Guy wraps his arms around both of us. “The desert has ears. And I’m pretty sure that palm tree’s a snitch.”

I stare at him. No response. None at all.

We visitthe Miracle Garden next, a riot of colors and flowers arranged into giant hearts, butterflies, and, to Fork Guy’s delight, a floral replica of the Burj Khalifa.

Camdyn and I wander alone, hands entwined, marveling at the absurd beauty of the place. I steal a flower from a bush and tuck it behind her ear, and her smile is pure sunlight. For a few minutes, it’s us in a fairytale, the air thick with the scent of a thousand blooms and not a single thought about practice, drafts,or deadlines. Every so often, she bumps my hip with hers, and I know she’s as lost in the moment as I am.

Fork Guy is living his best life. He circles the Burj Khalifa flower tower, arms outstretched like he’s worshipping an ancient floral deity. “If I disappear, tell my story,” he shouts, before launching a handful of petals directly at Jameson’s head. “Fork power!”

Jameson, never one to be outdone, scoops up a stray bucket of petals (left behind for photos, presumably, not spontaneous warfare) and upends it over Fork Guy, who emerges like some bizarre springtime yeti, tiara askew, eyes wild with victory.

---