Flash Point at the Plate

Marcus's fingers shook as he gripped the cold metal of his iPhone, Instagram livestream already rolling. This was it – the bottom of the ninth, two outs, bases loaded, and Tyler Hernandez (who'd barely acknowledged Marcus's existence all semester) at the plate. The varsity **baseball** game was tied, and Marcus had positioned himself perfectly behind home plate, ready to capture what would definitely be the most viral video at Northwood High tomorrow.

"You're streaming AGAIN?" groaned Chloe, sliding onto the bench beside him. "Bro, not everything needs to be content."

"Watch this," Marcus muttered, though his stomach did that awful flip-flop thing it always did when he tried too hard. Tyler wound up, connected with the pitch – CRACK – and the ball soared toward the fence. Marcus's phone screen flickered. Then died. Completely.

"NO." He stared at the black mirror of his iPhone like it had personally betrayed him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Dude," Chloe said, nudging him. "Look up."

The sky had turned that sickly purple-green color that meant tornado weather in the Midwest. Storm clouds were boiling overhead, and suddenly – a jagged spear of **lightning** splintered the sky, so bright it left purple spots in Marcus's vision. The crowd gasped. Rain came down in sheets, instant and brutal.

They scrambled toward the concession stand for cover, but Marcus kept scanning the parking lot through the downpour. There. Peeking from his open backpack on the wet ground – the corner of his childhood security blanket, the one he'd accidentally packed when he was stressed about finals. The one with the faded **bear** print that still smelled like his grandma's house.

Chloe saw it too. And Marcus waited for it – the laugh, the roast, the thing that would make him a social pariah until graduation. Instead, she squeezed rain from her hair and said, "No judgment. I still sleep with the same stuffed penguin from when I was six. His name is Sir Waddlesworth."

Marcus stared at her. "Seriously?"

"Dead ass. Everyone's got something." She grinned. "Besides, after that lightning strike? Nobody's looking at us. They're all freaking out about their own stuff."

The game had been called. Tyler's home run didn't matter. The viral moment wasn't happening. But somehow, as they huddled under the concession overhang watching the storm roll across the field, Marcus felt lighter than he had all semester. His iPhone was dead, his secret was out, and Chloe was texting Sir Waddlesworth a meme.

"You want to get food?" she asked. "My treat. Since you missed the shot."

Marcus laughed, actually laughed. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Sometimes the worst moments turned out exactly right. Just not in the way you expected.