Foxes Don't Play Center Field

I was functioning on zero sleep and desperation, basically a **zombie** in cleats. The championship game was in two hours and I'd spent the entire night overthinking everything—my batting average, whether Mia actually noticed me exist, and why my life felt like one giant awkward pause.

"Dude, you look dead," my best friend Ty said, tossing me a **vitamin** C supplement he'd swiped from his mom's purse. "Chew this. It'll fix your life."

"Nothing can fix this mess," I muttered, but I choked it down anyway.

We were warming up when everything went sideways. First, the sky turned that weird yellow-green color that means trouble. Then the announcer's voice crackled over the speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our mascot, Sparky the **Fox**!"

But Sparky wasn't some guy in a suit. An actual **fox**—a sleek, rust-colored creature with zero regard for social norms—trotted onto the field like he owned the place. The crowd went wild. They thought it was part of the show.

"Is that... real?" I asked Ty.

"Bro, that is DEFINITELY real."

Then came the **lightning**. Not metaphorical. Actual bolts cracking the sky sideways, illuminating everything in these terrifying freeze-frame moments. The referee grabbed the microphone: "Game suspended! Everyone to cover NOW!"

But the fox didn't move. It sat calmly in center field, tail twitching, watching me like it knew something I didn't. Like it was here for a reason.

I ran toward it, because apparently that's what you do when your brain is mush and you're having a weird moment.

"Hey little guy," I whispered, crouching down. "You shouldn't be here."

The fox tilted its head, eyes amber and ancient, then bolted toward the dugout—Mia's direction. She screamed, delighted, as it brushed past her legs.

"It likes you!" I shouted over the thunder.

She laughed, this perfect genuine sound that somehow mattered more than any championship. "Maybe it knows something!"

**Lightning** struck somewhere closer and the sky opened up. We all stood there, soaked and ridiculous, some random wild fox on the loose, Mia smiling at me like I wasn't a complete disaster, and I thought: yeah. Maybe the fox did know something.

Sometimes the universe hits you with **baseball** games you're not ready for, foxes that shouldn't exist, and moments that change everything. You just have to show up and play.

Even if you're a zombie. Even if you're scared. Especially then.