Break Shot

Marcus stood in the corner of the recreation center, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into his oversized hoodie. The social pyramid at Lincoln High was crystal clear—varsity athletes at the top, band kids in the middle, and everyone else fighting for the scraps at the bottom. Marcus? He was practically underground.

"Hey, basement dweller," called Tyler, captain of the swim team, currently leaning over the pool table with that effortless confidence that made Marcus's stomach twist. "Wanna make yourself useful? Rack 'em for us."

Marcus stepped forward, hands in his pockets. His fingers brushed against his own pool cue—the one nobody knew about. The one he'd been practicing with since seventh grade in his garage.

The pyramid of balls clicked into place. Marcus stepped back, head down.

"Thanks, loser," Tyler laughed, chalking his cue with dramatic flair. "Watch and learn how the cool kids play."

Outside, the sky went purple. Thunder rattled the windows. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in stroboscopic bursts—perfect timing, really, because everyone was looking at Tyler's terrible shot when the ball jumped the table and rolled toward Marcus's feet.

"Whoops," Tyler said, not sorry at all. "My bad."

Marcus picked it up. Then he picked up his own cue from his bag.

"Dude," someone whispered. "What are you doing?"

Marcus didn't answer. He just bent over the table, the lightning outside painting his silhouette against the wall. His first shot sent balls scattering like startled birds. The second sank the eight ball with a soft, definitive thud.

The room went dead silent.

"Nice," Tyler said, his voice tight. "Lucky shot."

Marcus straightened up, finally meeting everyone's eyes. "Wanna play for real?"

The storm outside didn't matter anymore. The pyramid at Lincoln High might have been set in stone, but the pool table? That was just physics and practice. Marcus wasn't invisible anymore.