Bases & Backspin

Marcus stood on the pitcher's mound, sweat dripping down his temple. Another strikeout. The baseball team's star pitcher, and suddenly he couldn't find the zone if his life depended on it.

"You're overthinking it," his dad called from the bleachers. Same thing he'd said since Marcus was ten.

Later that night, Marcus scrolled through TikTok, avoiding his teammates' texts. That's when he saw it—ZYA, the new girl from Spanish class, absolutely crushing it at the padel court near the skate park. She moved like water, all angles and instinct, nothing like baseball's rigid mechanics.

The next afternoon, Marcus found himself there, rental racquet in hand. His first swing? Total air. The ball sailed past him.

ZYA laughed, not mean-like. "First time?"

"Is it that obvious?" Marcus felt his face burn.

"Here." She tossed him a water bottle. "Also, you might want to ease up on the spinach smoothies before practice. Just saying."

Marcus froze. His mom's new health kick meant spinach-infused everything. He'd downed one right before coming.

"How'd you—"

"Your teeth, silly." ZYA grinned. "Baseball kid, right? I can tell by the way you stand. Like you're waiting for a pitch that's never coming."

Over the next month, Marcus kept showing up. His baseball coach noticed his improved reflexes, but Marcus didn't care. For the first time since he could remember, he was playing something because he wanted to, not because his dad's dreams depended on it.

"You're getting good," ZYA said one afternoon, high-fiving him after a killer volley.

"Yeah, well..." Marcus shrugged, feeling weirdly light. "Sometimes you gotta switch up your game."

"And sometimes," ZYA said, grabbing her bag, "you just need someone to show you how it's done. Same time tomorrow?"

Marcus nodded, actually grinning. Baseball could wait. He'd found his new zone.