Curveball at Orange Corner

Marcus's **iphone** buzzed in his pocket, right in the middle of batting practice. Again. He knew without looking that it was another text from his dad—Are you trying out for the team? followed by some motivational quote he'd found online. Marcus adjusted his **baseball** cap and stepped up to the plate, ignoring the vibration against his thigh.

"You got this, rook," Jay, the senior shortstop, called out. Marcus nodded, sweat already dripping down his neck. It was ninety degrees, and the sun was blazing above the outfield fence like a giant, angry **orange**.

After practice, Coach announced the roster would be posted at 5 PM. Marcus's stomach did that thing it did when he'd drunk expired milk. He ducked into the convenience store at the corner of his street to escape the heat and pulled out his phone. Seventeen texts. Six missed calls. One voicemail from his mom: "Try the **papaya** I got from that new market! It's supposed to be amazing for energy!"

He stared at the exotic fruit in his backpack. His mom had been bringing home weird stuff since she started watching those wellness influencers on TikTok. Last week it was dragon fruit. Before that, something called rambutan that looked like sea urchins.

"Hey." A voice behind him. He jumped. Jay stood there, holding two Gatorades. "Nervous about the roster?"

Marcus shrugged. "Not really." Lie.

"You're gonna make it," Jay said, sliding a blue Gatorade across the counter. "I saw your swing today. You've got power. Coach loves power."

They sat on the curb outside, sipping electrolyte drinks while Marcus's phone kept buzzing in his pocket. His dad. Always his dad, trying to coach from three states away, trying to parent through text messages and motivational Instagram posts.

"What's that?" Jay pointed at the papaya.

"Energy fruit," Marcus said. "My mom's trying stuff. She thinks if I eat right, I'll make the team. If I make the team, I'll make friends. If I make friends, I won't spend every weekend alone in my room."

Jay laughed, but not in a mean way. "Parents, man. My dad thinks if he buys me the right cleats, I'll get a scholarship. Meanwhile, I'm barely hitting .200."

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute. Then Marcus did something impulsive—something that felt foreign and scary and exactly right. He pulled out his phone and turned it completely off.

"What are you doing?" Jay asked.

"I'm gonna eat this papaya," Marcus said, "and you're gonna help me figure out if it's actually good, or if my mom's being scammed by wellness influencers again."