Between Innings and Lightning

Marcus sat on the bench, his baseball glove practically glued to his hand. Not that Coach ever put him in—he was perpetually the backup, the eternal benchwarmer who'd maybe see one inning per game if they were crushing the other team. Which they weren't tonight.

"You're staring again," whispered Jamal, popping his gum beside him. "At least pretend you're watching the game."

Marcus ripped his gaze away from the stands, where SHE sat. Chloe. The new girl who'd transferred in three weeks ago and somehow already had the entire baseball team wrapped around her finger without even trying. She was currently laughing at something Tyler—the starting shortstop and biggest tool in the county—had said.

"I'm not staring," Marcus lied. "I'm... observing. Strategic recon. Like a spy gathering intel."

"You're a spy?" Jamal raised an eyebrow. "What's your mission, 007? Figuring out if she likes guys who hit .187 or guys who ride the pine?"

Marcus flipped him off, but smiled despite himself. Jamal had been his best friend since kindergarten, back when Marcus's parents got him that carnival goldfish he'd won by throwing a ping-pong ball into a bowl. He'd named it Admiral Finbar III and given it a full Viking funeral in the toilet when it inevitably died three weeks later.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The sky had been threatening all afternoon—dark clouds rolling in like something out of a disaster movie. But this was the semi-final, so obviously they were going to play until the weather literally forced them off the field.

"Weather's getting worse," Jamal noted. "Coach should've called it innings ago."

As if on cue, a massive bolt of lightning cracked across the sky—so bright it left spots in Marcus's vision. The crowd gasped. The umpire immediately shouted for everyone to clear the field.

"Game's suspended! Everyone to the dugout or your cars NOW!" Coach bellowed.

Chaos erupted. Parents scrambled. Players grabbed their gear. Marcus hesitated, watching Chloe stand up and look around, clearly unsure where to go. She didn't have anyone here—her parents worked late, she'd mentioned in homeroom.

Before he could second-guess himself into oblivion, Marcus found himself walking toward her. His heart hammered like he'd just been called in to close the bottom of the ninth.

"Hey," he said, voice cracking slightly. Smooth. "You need a ride? My mom's here. She can, um, drop you off?"

Chloe turned, surprise flickering across her face before she smiled. And wow—up close, her smile did things to his stomach that cafeteria lunch never could.

"Actually, that would be amazing," she said. "I wasn't sure how I was getting home. You're a lifesaver."

Marcus walked her to his mom's minivan, hyper-aware of how close their arms were as rain began to fall. They talked about the game, about school, about how Tyler really wasn't as funny as he thought he was. By the time they pulled up to her house, the storm was in full force—lightning flashing every few seconds like paparazzi at a premiere.

"Thanks again," she said, opening the door. "Hey, what position do you play? I didn't see you in much."

"Oh, you know," Marcus shrugged. "Utility. Whatever they need."

"Cool," she smiled, and it felt different from the one she'd given Tyler. This one reached her eyes. "See you at school tomorrow, Marcus?"

"Yeah," he managed. "Tomorrow."

He sat back in the minivan as rain pelted the roof, grinning like an idiot. Being a benchwarper wasn't so bad. Sometimes the best views came from the sidelines—and sometimes, just sometimes, you got called up to the big leagues when you least expected it.