Full Count

Marcus's cleats clicked against the pavement as he jogged toward the **baseball** field, his stomach doing that thing it always did before games—like someone had replaced his insides with a knot of tangled headphones. He was the team's star pitcher, supposed to be the clutch player, the one everyone counted on.

But nobody knew he'd been scrolling through queer TikToks until 3 AM every night, his phone screen the only light in his room while his parents slept down the hall. Nobody knew he'd almost come out to his best friend Jordan yesterday, then chickened out and made some joke about how the cafeteria pizza looked like something died on it.

"You good, Marc?" Jordan asked, falling into step beside him. "You look like you're about to puke."

"Fine," Marcus lied. "Just pre-game jitters."

The truth was, he wasn't nervous about the game. He was nervous about after the game—about Jessica's party, where he was supposed to finally make a move on her, even though the thought made his skin feel too tight. Everyone expected it. Everyone was waiting.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. His mom had texted: *Don't forget, we're cutting the **cable** today. Streaming only now.* For some reason, that small change felt huge. Like everything normal was slowly getting stripped away, piece by piece.

"Hey," Jordan said quietly. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?"

Marcus's heart hammered. This was it—Jordan knew. Or maybe Marcus was just projecting.

"I know," Marcus said, but the words felt like stones in his throat.

Then his little sister came running up the sidewalk, clutching that stupid **bear** she'd had since she was three—one eye missing, fur matted with years of love. She'd stopped carrying it in public ages ago, but here she was, thirteen years old and holding it like a shield.

"Marcus!" she yelled. "Mom says Dad found your phone in your room last night. She says you need to call home. NOW."

The world tilted. His dad didn't know his phone password. Unless Marcus had forgotten to lock it. Unless—

Jordan grabbed his arm. "Whatever happens, I've got your back. Always."

Marcus stood frozen at the edge of the field, the game about to start without him, everything he'd been hiding suddenly exposed. The knot in his stomach tightened, then released.

He didn't run to the dugout. He turned toward home, toward whatever was coming, and for the first time in his life, he didn't feel like he was striking out looking.