Goldfish in the Outfield

The baseball diamond gleamed under stadium lights, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere with orange lines and a smaller court.

'You gonna stare at the fence all night or actually swing, Lucas?' Coach Miller yelled, his voice cutting through my daydream like a chainsaw.

'Sorry, Coach.' I adjusted my cap, third one this season because Mom kept buying the wrong size. Like she knew anything about what I needed.

The thing was, everyone expected me to be this baseball prodigy like my older brother. Jay had been captain, all-state, now playing D1. Meanwhile, I was out here in right field, my nickname literally 'Goldfish' because I had like, no game memory and kept forgetting plays.

'Lucas!' Someone hissed.

I looked up. Maya was leaning against the bleacher fence, her orange Conpez hi-tops glowing under the lights. She was the new girl, transfer from some fancy private school, with hair dyed the color of a creamsicle and an attitude that said she didn't care what anyone thought.

She motioned with her chin toward the rec center parking lot behind the field.

My heart did this embarrassing flutter thing. After the game, I snuck around back, where Maya was waiting next to a locked gate.

'You coming?' she asked, like she already knew the answer.

'Where?'

'Padel courts. My dad's the night manager, I can get us in.' She dangled a key chain. 'You're always zoning out in the outfield. Figured you needed something actually fun to do.'

I hesitated. Baseball was supposed to be my thing. But was it really MY thing, or just everyone's expectation of what Jay's little brother should do?

'My mom expects me home—'

'Live a little, Goldfish.' Maya smirked. 'Unless you're scared to try something you might actually be good at.'

That got me. Thirty minutes later, I was standing on a padel court, holding a racquet that felt right in my hands. Like, actually RIGHT. Not like a baseball bat that always felt slightly wrong, like wearing someone else's shoes.

Maya tossed me a ball.

'Show me what you got.'

I hit it back. Then again. And somehow, the court made sense. The angles, the strategy, the way the ball bounced off the walls—my brain locked onto it instantly. No forgotten plays. No zoning out.

'You're actually decent,' Maya said, sounding surprised. 'Better than decent.'

'Maybe,' I said, hitting a perfect shot into the corner. 'But don't tell Coach Miller.'

She laughed, and in that moment, under the orange glow of the parking lot lights, I realized something: sometimes you have to stop swimming in everyone else's expectations to find where you actually belong.

'Hey, Maya?' I called across the court. 'Same time tomorrow?'

'If you can handle getting destroyed by a girl,' she shot back, grinning.

'I'll risk it.'

For the first time in forever, I wasn't waiting for the inning to end. I was exactly where I wanted to be.