Green Smoothie Disaster

Marcus stood in front of his open locker, staring at the Tupperware container like it was about to explode. His pre-workout smoothie—the color of radioactive sludge—was supposed to be his secret weapon for basketball tryouts this afternoon.

"Yo, Marcus, you good?" Jamal leaned against the neighboring locker, eyebrows raised. "You look like you're debating your life choices."

"My cousin says this smoothie is basically pure vitamin gold," Marcus muttered, cracking the lid. "Spinach, papaya, some protein powder..."

"That looks like something the cafeteria bull refused to serve last week." Jamal laughed, but Marcus didn't smile. The bull thing was actually real—the school mascot costume had been retired after someone spilled something suspiciously similar on it during homecoming.

The cafeteria buzzed with lunchtime chaos as Marcus carried his bottle to a corner table. He was sixteen now, old enough to know better, but here he was, drinking something that looked like it came from a swamp because he'd watched some TikTok about NBA players' diets.

"Ew, what is THAT?" Chloe's voice cut through the noise. She was sitting with her friends, three tables away. Marcus had had a crush on her since seventh grade, and apparently this was his moment.

"It's a health thing," he said, but his voice cracked.

Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Looks like blended lawn clippings."

Her table erupted in laughter. Marcus felt the heat rising up his neck. Why did he always do this? Always trying too hard, always ending up as the joke. Last month it was the absurdly bright sneakers. This month it was radioactive smoothies.

He dumped the bottle in the trash without finishing it. Whatever. He'd just eat like a normal person.

But then—because the universe had a twisted sense of timing—the announcement came on: "Attention students, basketball tryouts start in thirty minutes in the main gym."

Marcus's stomach dropped. He'd pinned all his hopes on this super-smoothie giving him energy, that edge he needed to finally make varsity. Now he was going to crash and burn, running on humiliation and an empty stomach.

"You gonna go?" Jamal asked quietly.

Marcus hesitated. The spinach-papaya disaster sat in the trash can, a monument to his overthinking. He could skip it, go home, replay this moment in his head for weeks.

"Yeah," Marcus said, standing up. "I'm gonna go."

"Without your rocket fuel?" Jamal grinned.

"Guess I'll have to play on pure spite." Marcus grabbed his backpack. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck," Jamal called after him. "You've been working your ass off all summer. That's not fake."

Marcus walked toward the gym, still embarrassed, still anxious—but a little lighter. The smoothie was garbage, but maybe that was okay. Maybe the real secret weapon wasn't some magic vitamin blend. Maybe it was just showing up, even after making a complete fool of yourself in front of your crush.

He pushed open the gym doors. The squeak of sneakers on hardwood filled the air. Game time.