Curveball at the End of the World

The batting cage smelled like stale sweat and broken dreams. Perfect.

"You're swinging like a zombie, Leo," Marcus called out, leaning against the chain-link fence with that annoying grin that made half the sophomore class want to high-five him and the other half want to, well, not. "Did you actually sleep last night, or did you just scroll TikTok until your brain turned to mush?"

Leo flipped him off without turning around. The baseball cracked against his bat—*thwack*—and sailed into the netting. Solid contact. Finally.

"Rizz god," Marcus nodded approvingly. "But seriously, dude. You've been moving like you're undead all week. Everything good?"

Leo leaned on his bat, wiping sweat from his forehead. Everything was *not* good. His parents had dropped the "we're separating" bombshell on Sunday like it was casual dinner conversation. Now his house felt like a museum exhibit of a marriage that used to exist, and he'd been averaging four hours of sleep per night, lying awake replaying every conversation from the past six months wondering what he'd missed.

But he wasn't about to trauma-dump on Marcus, whose biggest problem was deciding between two colleges that both cost more than Leo's parents' house.

"Just tired," Leo said. "Summer league, plus the ACT prep course my mom signed me up for..." He trailed off. Saying "my mom" felt wrong now. Like he was choosing sides.

"That's rough, buddy." Marcus pushed off the fence and wandered closer. "Hey, you coming to Jake's party tonight? Supposedly there's gonna be a zombie apocalypse theme. Everyone dressed as extras from The Walking Dead. It's gonna be chaotic."

Leo almost laughed. His life *was* a zombie apocalypse—he was just walking through it trying not to get his brain eaten.

"Maybe," he said. "I've got... stuff."

"Stuff?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You're not bailing on me, are you? This is supposed to be our last summer before everyone scatters. Don't be that guy who disappears because his parents are making him do an internship at some investment bank or whatever."

Leo's phone buzzed in his pocket. Probably his mom. Or his dad. The shared calendar that used to hold family dinners now contained coordinated custody schedules.

"I'm not bailing," he said, even though he was absolutely considering bailing. "Just... I'll see."

Marcus studied him for a second, then pulled something from his pocket—a clear plastic bag with a single orange goldfish swimming inside. The fish stared out with wide, unblinking eyes.

"For you," Marcus said solemnly. "His name is Captain Beefheart. He represents new beginnings." When Leo just stared at him, Marcus added, "My sister won him at the carnival last night and she's allergic to everything. Also my mom says no pets. Take him or he sleeps with the fishes tonight. Literally."

"You named a goldfish Captain Beefheart?"

"I didn't name him, the carnie did. But the name fits, doesn't it? He's got main character energy."

Leo looked at the fish, then at Marcus, who was waiting for him to say yes to the party and yes to the fish and yes to acting like everything was normal. And suddenly Leo realized he could. He *could* go to the party and make bad decisions with his friends and complain about homework and pretend his parents weren't rewriting their lives like a bad ending they'd seen coming for years. He could carry around a fish named Captain Beefheart in a plastic bag and call it a Tuesday.

The zombie feeling in his chest cracked open, something lighter pushing through.

"Fine," Leo said, taking the bag carefully. "But if this fish dies, I'm blaming you."

"Deal." Marcus grinned, that annoying-charming grin that would definitely work on college girls everywhere. "Now quit staring at Captain Beefheart and hit some more balls. My grandma throws faster than you."