Curveball Summer

The July heat pressed against my skin like a heavy blanket as I stood at the edge of the abandoned baseball field. The grass had grown wild through the cracked base paths, and the backstop leaned precariously to the left, like it had given up on holding anything back.

"You gonna stand there all day or actually swing?" Marcus called from the pitcher's mound, tossing a baseball up and catching it with that annoyingly smooth motion.

I adjusted my grip on the bat. "Just admiring the view, bro."

"The view is me and you know it."

I laughed despite myself. Marcus had been my best friend since third grade, back when his biggest problem was forgetting his lunch money and mine was figuring out why nobody wanted to sit with us at recess. Things had gotten more complicated since then — he'd shot up six inches and made varsity baseball as a sophomore, while I was still waiting for my growth spurt and my confidence.

The first pitch came fast, a blur I didn't even try to hit. It cracked against the chain-link fence behind me.

"You're not even trying," Marcus said, walking closer. "What's going on? You've been weird all week."

I hesitated. The truth sat in my throat like something I'd swallowed wrong. "There's this girl."

"Oh no." He groaned. "Not this again."

"She's in my English class. Her name's Jasmine. She invited me to this party Saturday and I said I'd go but now I'm freaking out because what if I say something stupid or wear the wrong thing or —"

"Bro." Marcus cut me off. "You're overthinking it. You always do."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's never even kissed anyone."

Marcus got quiet. The distant sound of running footsteps echoed from the trail that wound behind the field. Probably cross-country practice.

"You know I haven't either, right?" he said finally.

I stared at him. "No way. Everyone says you hooked up with Sarah at homecoming."

"Bull. That's just what people say because they think that's how it's supposed to be. Everyone's faking it, man. Acting like they've got it all figured out when they're just making it up as they go."

Something settled in my chest, lighter than before.

"So what do I do about the party?" I asked.

Marcus grinned. "You show up. You talk to her like she's a normal person because she is. You say something stupid and you laugh about it and it's fine. That's what being sixteen is supposed to be."

He wound up and threw another pitch. This time I stepped in, focused on the ball spinning toward me, and swung. The crack of the bat connected with something solid, sending the ball soaring toward the distant trees.

"Now that," Marcus said, "is what I'm talking about."