Fox in the Outfield

Marcus's palms were sweating so much that the baseball bat felt like it might slip right through his fingers. Behind him, the varsity coach was taking notes on a clipboard, and Marcus could feel every single pair of eyes burning into his back.

'You good, Marcus?' called Isaiah, the sophomore shortstop who'd already secured his spot on the team. 'You look like you're about to pass out.'

Marcus nodded, wiping his sweaty palms on his uniform pants. He'd been practicing his swing for months, ever since he'd decided to try out for the team as a junior. Most people thought he was crazy for starting so late, but he was tired of being just the quiet kid who sat in the back of algebra class.

He stepped into the batter's box, heart pounding. The pitcher wound up and threw a fastball right down the middle. Marcus swung, making perfect contact. The ball sailed over the left field fence, clearing it easily.

For a second, everything was perfect. Then reality crashed in.

'Nice hit, Fox,' Isaiah called out. Marcus flinched. Fox was the nickname he'd earned in middle school after he'd panicked during a presentation and literally run out of the classroom like a scared animal. He'd been trying to shake it ever since, moving schools freshman year, reinventing himself.

But somehow, Isaiah knew.

Marcus turned around slowly. Isaiah was smirking, but not in a mean way. 'My cousin went to Franklin Middle,' he said. 'Told me about some kid who could run like nobody's business but hated being the center of attention.'

Marcus braced himself for the teasing that had haunted him for years.

Instead, Isaiah nodded toward the outfield. 'We need someone with wheels for the tournament next week. You interested in trying out for center field instead?'

Marcus's palms stopped sweating. 'Seriously?'

'Dead serious.' Isaiah grinned. 'Foxes are supposed to be quick, right?'