Drowning Above Water

Marcus stood on the pitcher's mound, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. The baseball felt like a grenade in his hand—something that could explode at any moment and ruin everything.

"You got this, bro!" yelled Jamal from the dugout. His best friend since kindergarten, now practically a stranger since Jamal had made varsity and Marcus was stuck on JV. Again.

Marcus wound up and threw. The ball sailed wild, hitting the backstop with a clang that echoed through his chest like a heartbeat.

"My bad," he muttered, but Coach Martinez was already shaking his head, that familiar look of disappointment that said *maybe next year, maybe never.*

After the game, Marcus didn't go to the pizza place with everyone else. Instead, he found himself at the community pool, long after hours had ended. The fence had a gap behind the maintenance shed—one he'd discovered last summer when his life felt like it was falling apart.

The water was midnight-dark, lit only by a single security light. Marcus stripped to his boxers and slipped in.

This was the only place he could breathe. Underwater, the expectations dissolved. No baseball stats, no college applications his dad kept "mentioning," no weird distance growing between him and Jamal like a slow-moving cable unwinding, connection fraying strand by strand.

He broke the surface, gasping.

A low woof made him jump.

A golden retriever stood at the pool's edge, tail wagging, head tilted. Behind it, a girl about his age with half-blue hair and overalls held a leash.

"He likes you," she said. "Bandit usually hates athletes."

"I'm not really an athlete," Marcus said, treading water. "I'm just pretending."

"Hmm." She sat down, dangling her legs in the water. Bandit flopped beside her. "That's funny. Jamal said you're gonna be the team's ace next year."

Marcus froze. "You know Jamal?"

"We're in physics together." She shrugged. "He talks about you, like, constantly. How you're the only one who actually gets his memes. How he wishes he'd come to more of your games instead of worrying about varsity making him cool." She paused. "He misses you, you know. He's just awkward about it."

Marcus let himself float on his back, staring up at the sky. The pressure in his chest loosened, just a little.

"I'm Maya, by the way."

"Marcus."

"Want to get out before security does their rounds? I know this place with better fries than the pizza joint." Bandit barked in agreement.

Marcus smiled—for real this time. "Yeah. Actually, I really do."