Curveballs and Goldfish

Marcus stared at his cracked iphone screen, thumb hovering over a text he'd typed twelve times and deleted eleven times. The baseball field stretched behind him, empty except for the distant sound of cleats on dirt. Practice had ended twenty minutes ago, but he couldn't make himself leave the dugout.

"Yo, Marcus, you coming?" called Jayden, already halfway to the parking lot.

"Nah, you go ahead," Marcus muttered, pulling his hat lower. The brim cast a shadow that hid everything above his nose—a trick he'd perfected since seventh grade, when he realized that making eye contact meant people might actually see him.

His phone buzzed. *unknown number*

His heart did that stupid flutter thing again. The same flutter from when Elena had smiled at him during third period, when their hands had brushed reaching for the same calc textbook. When she'd whispered, "I like your hat," and he'd mumbled something unintelligible and practically sprinted away.

The message: *this is elena btw u left ur hoodie in chem lol*

Marcus stared at his goldfish, Finnegan, swimming in his minimal setup on the bench. His teammates thought bringing a fish to games was weird, but Finnegan was the only one who knew Marcus's secrets. The only one who knew about the panic attacks before games. The way he threw up behind the bleachers before tryouts. The way baseball was supposed to be his whole life but felt like someone else's.

*hey thanks* he typed. *you wanna hang sometime?*

Sent.

Before he could second-guess himself, another message popped up: *tbh i thought ud never ask 😂*

Marcus grinned so wide his face hurt. Something in his chest shifted—like Finnegan had finally stopped swimming against the current. He adjusted his hat, tilted it back for once, and grabbed his gear.

First base was waiting. And maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to hide behind the brim anymore.