Bullpen Blues

Marcus stood at the edge of the diving board, toes curled around the rough surface, heart pounding like a bass drum at a homecoming dance. Below him, the pool water shimmered with that artificial blue that made everything look Instagram-perfect, but Marcus felt about as far from perfect as you could get.

"You gonna jump or what?" yelled Jake from the water, treading water with that effortless athletic grace that made Marcus want to simultaneously be him and punch him. The rest of the baseball team—his teammates, theoretically—snickered from the poolside.

They'd invited him to Cooper's end-of-season pool party, and Marcus had actually thought he was finally being accepted. After two months of being the new kid, the quiet one who could pitch but couldn't small talk, he'd stupidly let himself believe this was it. His chance.

Instead, they'd been taking turns daring each other to do increasingly dangerous jumps off the high dive. And now everyone was watching.

"Don't be a chicken, Marcus," Cooper called out. The team captain, golden boy, the guy everyone either wanted to be or wanted to date. He grinned with that perfect white smile that probably cost more than Marcus's dad's car. "Unless you're scared of a little water?"

They all laughed. Marcus gripped the railing. He wasn't scared of water—he'd been swimming since he was five. But this wasn't about swimming. This was about the fact that his grandmother had died three days ago, and he hadn't told anyone because he didn't want to be That Guy with the Dead Parent. He was already the Weird Quiet Kid.

He was so tired of performing. Tired of acting like everything was fine, tired of trying to fit into this mold of who he was supposed to be. The jock, the chill guy, the one who could take a joke.

"Actually," Marcus said, voice surprisingly steady, "I think I'm good."

He climbed down the ladder while they booed and called him boring. But as his feet hit the concrete, something in him shifted.

"What's your deal, man?" Cooper asked, all fake-concern. "You've been weird all week."

Marcus looked at them—all these people he'd been trying so hard to impress, performing like a seal for treats. And suddenly he was just done.

"My grandmother died on Tuesday," he said, matter-of-fact. "I haven't really felt like being the entertainment lately."

The silence was absolute. The kind that feels heavy, like you're swimming underwater without coming up for air.

"Oh damn," Jake whispered, looking at his hands. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, well." Marcus shrugged. "I didn't tell anyone. So." He grabbed his towel. "I'm gonna head out."

"Wait, Marcus," Cooper said, actually serious for once. "Stay. We can just... hang out. No more jumping stuff."

Marcus looked at them. Really looked. And for the first time, they looked back—really seeing him.

"Maybe," Marcus said. "But I'm picking the music."

Jake groaned. "Please not your weird indie stuff again—"

"Deal with it," Marcus said, and for the first time all year, he didn't feel like he was swimming against the current. Just maybe, he was finally finding his stride.