Breaking Surface

The baseball hit me in the forehead with the grace of a freight train. I fell backward onto the carefully manicured lawn of Miller Park, my vision swimming in circles while my so-called friends howled with laughter somewhere above me.

"Dude, you were supposed to catch it," Marco said, peering down like I was a museum exhibit. "With your glove. Not your face."

I groaned and sat up, my skull throbbing in time with the neighborhood's distant ice cream truck jingle. This was what happened when you tried to be Normal Teenager. This was what happened when you let your friends talk you into joining their pickup baseball game because "it'll be fun, Leo, you're always cooped up inside."

Then I saw the cat.

Mrs. Gable's orange tabby had appeared from nowhere, sitting on the pitcher's mound like it owned the place. It stared directly at me with那种 judgment that only cats can perfect, as if saying, *This is what you get for pretending to be an athlete.*

"That cat's been stalking me all summer," I muttered, rubbing my forehead.

"Maybe it's an omen," Sarah said. "Like, bad luck or something."

"Or maybe it just wants attention," Marco scoffed, winding up for another pitch. But as the ball left his hand, the cat darted across the field, directly into the trajectory of the pitch. Marco tried to stop, momentum carried him forward, and suddenly everyone was stumbling over each other like a game of human dominoes.

The cat sat calmly near the fence, grooming its tail.

I retreated to the poolside, where at least the only thing judging me was water. My cousins were hosting their annual July Fourth party, and I'd been hiding here for twenty minutes, letting my legs dangle in the cool blue while fake laughter echoed from the patio. That was the thing about summer—everyone pretending to have the time of their lives while secretly worrying about how tan they looked, who was dating who, whether their Instagram photos were getting enough likes.

"You okay?"

I looked up. Sarah. She sat beside me, dipping her feet in the water. "You took a pretty hard hit back there."

"I'm embarrassed," I admitted, surprising myself. "That I let them talk me into playing. That I care so much about fitting in."

She was quiet for a moment. The pool lights flickered on as dusk settled, turning the water into liquid gold. "You know what's funny? I only joined the game because Marco said you were playing. I hate baseball too."

I looked at her, really looked at her, and something shifted. The pressure in my chest loosened.

"So why did you play?" I asked.

"Because I wanted to hang out with you," she said simply. She stood up and held out her hand. "Come on. Let's go swimming. For real this time. No audience. No pretending."

I took her hand and we jumped in fully clothed while the orange cat watched from the fence, finally looking approving.