Electric in the Outfield

Leo's vitamin C gummies were working overtime. The cherry-flavored bears did nothing for the knot in his stomach as he stood in the on-deck circle, gripping the bat like it might save his life. The pool party at Maya's house was happening—like, right now—and he was stuck here, bottom of the ninth, two outs, his team down by one run.

Coach Reynolds had been yelling about "staying focused" since the second inning, but Leo's brain was somewhere between deep left field and Maya's backyard, wondering if she'd even notice he wasn't there. Probably not. She was the kind of popular that existed in a different stratosphere, while Leo was just the guy who occasionally made contact with the ball.

"You're up, kid!" Reynolds barked from the dugout.

The opposing pitcher glared. Leo stepped to the plate, the collective holding of breath from both bleachers palpable. He missed the first pitch. Swung and missed the second. The vitamin bears had failed him. This was it. Strikeout, then off to the party smelling like sweat and embarrassment.

Then it happened.

A crack of lightning splintered the sky—so bright it turned everything white for a split second. Everyone flinched. Everyone except Leo. In that moment, something electric sizzled through his veins. The world sharpened into high definition.

He saw everything. The way the pitcher's grip shifted slightly. The tiny twitch in his wrist. The seams of the ball spinning toward him.

CRACK.

The ball launched off Leo's bat with a sound so perfect it felt fake. It kept going, past the outfielder's desperate glove, all the way to the fence. Leo stood frozen for a second before reality kicked in.

"RUN!" someone screamed.

He rounded first, then second, the air rushing past his ears. The outfielder was still scrambling as Leo's cleats chewed up the dirt between second and third. He could hear his teammates' roar building like a wave. His lungs burned but he didn't care.

He slid into home plate, safe.

Chaos erupted. His team dogpiled him. For the first time in his life, Leo wasn't just the guy who occasionally made contact. He was the guy who won the game.

"Where'd you learn to hit like that?" Reynolds asked, grinning, as Leo limped toward the dugout.

Leo opened his mouth, then closed it. How do you explain that sometimes, just for a second, the world syncs up and you can see everything? That sometimes lightning strikes and it's not scary—it's electric?

"Just got lucky, I guess," Leo said, pulling another vitamin gummy from his pocket. "Mind if I head out? There's this pool party..."

Reynolds laughed. "Go. You earned it."

As Leo walked toward his bike, his phone buzzed. Unknown number. Unknown: "that hit was insane btw. party's lame without u. — Maya"

The electric feeling hadn't faded. If anything, it was getting stronger.