Green Shake Legacy

Leo's palms were sweating. Not normal sweating—like, actual embarrassing amounts that made his grip on the bat questionable. Sophomore year baseball tryouts, and here he was, the guy who chugged a neon-green smoothie every morning because his mom read one too many wellness articles.

The vitamin regime started junior year of middle school, after Leo got mono and missed two months of school. Now? Now he was the guy whose lunch box smelled like a health food store explosion, while everyone else was smashing chips and comparing candy bar flavors like it was a competitive sport.

"Hey, Green Giant," called Dylan, whose batting average was approximately perfect and whose abs were probably genetically engineered. "Ready to crush it or just photosynthesize?"

Laughter rippled through the dugout. Leo felt his face heat up, matching the lime-tinted residue he'd accidentally smeared on his chin earlier.

The coach blew the whistle. Time to bat.

Leo stepped to the plate, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. He could hear his mother's voice: Spinach makes you strong, baby. Popeye wasn't messing around. But Popeye didn't have to worry about twenty teenagers watching his every move, documenting any awkwardness for posterity on their phones.

The pitcher wound up. Fast ball, high and outside.

CRACK.

The ball sailed over the fence. In that moment, Leo wasn't the weird green-smoothie kid anymore. He was the guy who just smashed a home run on his first at-bat of tryouts.

As he rounded third base, he caught Dylan's expression—part shock, part begrudging respect. Maybe his mom's weird health obsession had actually done something. Or maybe he'd just gotten lucky.

Either way, he'd take it.

"Nice hit, Green Giant," Dylan said, but this time it sounded almost like a compliment. "Maybe I should start drinking that swamp water."

Leo grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."