Electric Inning

The storm was supposed to miss us completely. That's what the weather app said, anyway, but the sky had other plans. I stood at home plate, cleats digging into the dirt,Varsity baseball tryouts tomorrow and I couldn't even get a solid hit off my dad's lazy pitching in the backyard.

Then I saw it — a fox, trotting across the left field fence like it owned the place. It paused, orange fur glowing in that weird pre-storm light, and stared right at me with these knowing amber eyes. Like it was daring me to not overthink everything for once.

"You gonna hit that ball or what?" my dad called from the porch. "Storm's rolling in, Leo."

The first **lightning** strike flashed somewhere behind the trees, a white crack that split the sky open. One second later — BOOM. The sound hit my chest like a physical thing.

But I didn't flinch. Something about that fox watching, the way it stood there calm and unbothered while the world went chaotic... it clicked. All season I'd been playing scared, worried about making the team, about what the coaches would think, about whether I was actually good enough or just convincing myself.

The fox dipped its head, almost like a nod, then slipped into the woods.

I stepped back into the batter's box. Dad wound up and threw. This time I didn't think. I didn't calculate angles or second-guess my swing. I just let my body do what it knew how to do.

*CRACK.*

The ball sailed over the fence, landing somewhere in the tall grass where the fox had disappeared. Raindrops started falling, big fat ones that splashed against my face like the sky was finally cutting loose.

"Alright, Leo!" my dad yelled, already grabbing the equipment. "Let's pack it up before we get soaked."

But I stood there for another second, watching the storm roll in, feeling something shift in my chest. Tomorrow was tryouts, and for the first time all season, I wasn't terrified.

Thanks, fox.