Cap and Courage

My **baseball** cap was pulled down so low I could barely see the field, but that was the point. If I couldn't see anyone, they couldn't see the panic written all over my face.

"Dude, you good?" Marcus asked, nudging my shoulder.

"Yeah, just sweating," I lied. My palms were practically slipping off my knees. First game of the season, first time playing varsity, and somehow I'd convinced myself that one wrong move would define my entire high school existence.

The **cat** that hung around the dugout — the players called it Whiskers — sauntered past like it owned the place. At least someone was confident.

"Breathe, man," Marcus said. "You've been playing since we were, like, seven. This is the same game."

But it wasn't the same game. Everything felt heavier now. Every play felt like it mattered. Every at-bat felt like a statement about who I was and who I was becoming.

Coach called my name. I grabbed my bat and adjusted my **hat** for the twentieth time. My heart was doing that thing where it felt like it was trying to escape my chest.

First pitch: ball. Okay, good start.

Second pitch: strike one. I swung too early. I could feel the judgment radiating from the stands even though nobody was actually watching that closely. That's the thing about anxiety — it convinces you that everyone cares way more than they actually do.

Third pitch: CRACK.

I didn't even realize I'd hit it until I was already running. The ball sailed into left field, and suddenly I was on first base, grinning like an idiot. Marcus was cheering from the dugout. Whiskers the cat was completely unimressed, tail flicking in the dirt.

After the game, my mom insisted we celebrate at the diner. I'd finally relaxed, finally felt like maybe I belonged here, until I caught my reflection in the mirror.

A massive piece of **spinach** from my post-game smoothie was stuck in my teeth. I'd been talking to people. Laughing. Smiling. With spinach in my teeth for probably twenty minutes.

I wanted to die.

"That's bad, right?" I asked the reflection.

Then I started laughing. Because honestly? What else could I do? I'd hit a double in my first varsity game, survived the panic attack in the dugout, and yeah, I'd had spinach in my teeth. It was all part of it.

I cleaned it out and walked back to the table. If people had noticed, nobody mentioned it. And if they hadn't noticed, well, that was proof of what I'd somehow forgotten in all the panic — most people are too busy worrying about themselves to worry about you.

I adjusted my cap. Kept it slightly lower than necessary. Just right.