Bullseye Summer

Marcus stood at the edge of the irrigation ditch, papaya juice dripping down his chin, watching the baseball field where his best friend since kindergarten was now laughing with the varsity squad.

"Dude, you got like five seconds," Jamal had said earlier, shoving the weird orange fruit at him. "It's abuela's cure for being lame. Also a dare."

Marcus had taken the bite, eyes widening as the tropical sweetness exploded. Now, chunks of papaya stuck in his teeth while he watched Cody hit a home run that sailed over the fence, directly toward the mechanical bull that sat, dark and silent, behind the backstop. The town's only roadside attraction, a papier-mâché bull named "El Toro," had been vandalized twice this summer.

The baseball landed with a dull thud against the bull's side. Cody jogged over, varsity jacket catching the sunset, and knocked on the bull's hollow flank like it was a door. Marcus ducked behind the water tower before Cody could spot him.

His phone buzzed. *Pool party @ 8. Everyone going. U coming?*

Marcus stared at the text from Cody—that same Cody who'd memorized every Pokémon stat with him in sixth grade, who'd helped him build the world's worst treehouse. Now Cody moved through the halls like he'd always belonged with the popular kids, like Marcus had been a temporary placeholder friend until the real ones came along.

The irrigation water swirled around Marcus's sneakers. He thought about jumping in, letting the current carry him away from this summer of feeling like the extra in someone else's movie.

Instead, he wiped papaya stickiness on his jeans and walked toward the baseball field. The varsity team was packing up, but Cody lingered by the mechanical bull, checking his phone.

"Hey," Marcus said, and his voice didn't crack. "That home run was actually sick."

Cody looked up, surprised. Then something in his face softened. "Yeah? Too bad it hit El Toro here."

"Total disrespect," Marcus agreed. "We should fix him."

Cody grinned—a real one, not the fake smile he'd been wearing all summer. "I've got spray paint in my garage."

As they worked under the stars, repainting the bull's chipped horn, Marcus realized maybe friendships didn't end—they just grew weird and messy, like summers with papaya dares and irrigation ditches and moments that felt like the end of everything but were actually just the middle.