Catfish Confessions

Marcus stood at the edge of the pool, chlorine stinging his eyes. The swimming coach had just posted the cut list, and his name wasn't on it. Again.

"Whatever," he muttered, checking his phone. Three notifications from the group chat: the baseball team was meeting at the diamond. Marcus had been trying out for second base all week, even though he'd never picked up a bat before freshman year. It was his dad's thing, not his.

His cat Bean sat on the porch railing, watching him with that judgy look cats perfect when they think you're being dramatic. Bean knew Marcus was a fraud. The whole neighborhood knew.

Marcus grabbed his bike and pedaled toward the field, his swim trunks still damp under his jeans. The baseball guys were already there—Tyler with his perfect swing, Chris with his new glove that cost more than Marcus's entire wardrobe. They spoke in code: "paint the corners," "can of corn," stuff Marcus had to Google after practice.

Then there was the spy stuff.

It started as a joke. Marcus's little sister Lena thought their neighbor Mr. Henderson was hiding something. She'd caught him sneaking around at midnight with a flashlight. So Marcus, trying to impress the older kids, volunteered to investigate.

"I'll go full spy mode," he'd told Tyler. "Night vision goggles, the works."

"No way," Tyler had said, actually impressed. "That's sick."

Now Marcus was stuck. He'd promised proof, but the truth was, he was too scared to actually spy on anyone. He'd just been sitting on his roof, watching Mr Henderson's house, pretending to take notes.

Bean jumped onto his windowsill that night as Marcus stared through binoculars. He saw Mr. Henderson step outside with a flashlight. Marcus's heart raced. This was it—his chance to prove himself to the team, to stop being the kid who quit everything, to finally be good at baseball by association.

Mr. Henderson walked to his backyard and bent down.

Marcus zoomed in.

The man was carefully feeding stray cats. A whole colony of them, emerging from the bushes like fuzzy little secrets. Mr. Henderson petted each one, checking their collars, leaving food.

"Cat guy," Marcus whispered. "Literally just a cat guy."

Bean purred beside him, like she'd known all along.

Marcus didn't tell the baseball team what he'd found. Instead, he showed up to practice the next day and quit.

"I'm gonna stick with swimming," he told Tyler. "Even if I suck at it."

Tyler nodded. "Respect. You know, I used to take dance lessons before baseball."

"For real?"

"For real." Tyler grinned. "But between us, I'm still secretly jealous of the cat guy down the street. Those cats live better than I do."

Marcus laughed so hard he almost forgot to be nervous about swimming practice tomorrow. Almost.

Bean waited on the porch when he got home, and for once, Marcus thought she looked kind of proud. Like maybe she'd always known he'd figure out how to stop being everyone else and start being himself.

"You're a terrible spy," he told her, scratching behind her ears. "But you're a pretty good cat."

She purred like that was exactly the point.