Green Teeth and Golden Gloves

Marcus stood outside the dugout, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Tryouts for the varsity baseball team. The one thing he'd wanted since freshman year, back when he was still the kid who brought carrot sticks to parties while everyone else had Doritos.

"You got this, bro," JT said, bumping his shoulder. "Just don't overthink it."

Easy for JT to say. He'd been starting shortstop since JV. Marcus was the alternate—the guy who filled in when someone had the flu or broke something.

That morning, his mom had gone full health nut mode. Spinach smoothie for breakfast, because apparently iron would help his swing. He'd chugged it, feeling like he was mainlining a lawn. But he'd forgotten to check the mirror afterward.

Coach Miller blew the whistle. "Marcus, you're up. Let's see what you got in the batting cage."

He stepped up to the plate, gripping the bat until his knuckles turned white. The first pitch came—high and outside. He let it pass. Ball one. Good.

The second pitch was perfect, right down the middle. He swung, making solid contact, and the ball sailed past the outfielder. As he rounded first base, everyone cheered.

"Nice hit, Green Teeth!" someone yelled.

Marcus froze.

"Yeah, Marcus, been farming in the outfield?" another voice laughed.

His face burned. The spinach. Between his teeth. In front of everyone. Coach Miller. The seniors. Maya, the girl from his English class who'd actually smiled at him yesterday.

He jogged back to the dugout, head down, ready to quit. Baseball wasn't worth this.

Then his sister's golden retriever, Buster, came trotting along the fence line—somehow escaped from backyard again. The dog spotted Marcus and went crazy, tail wagging like a metronome on caffeine.

"Buster! No!" his little sister yelled, running over. "I'm so sorry, Marcus! He got out again—"

Buster stuck his snout through the chain-link, whining happily, and Marcus cracked up. Because honestly? This was his life. A dog who couldn't stay put, teeth full of breakfast greens, and now everyone was watching.

"Nice dog," JT called out. "He got the same stylist as you?"

Everyone laughed, but this time it felt different. Warmer.

Marcus grinned, flashing his green teeth proudly. "Yeah, we match. It's our brand."

Coach Miller shook his head, hiding a smile. "Get back in the batter's box, Green Teeth. Let's see if you can hit another one."

He did. And then another. And by the end of tryouts, nobody was making fun of him anymore.

Later, as he walked home with Buster (who'd been successfully wrangled), his phone buzzed. A text from Maya: Nice hit today 🏃‍♀️⚾ Even with the spinach.

Marcus smiled. Maybe being yourself—even the spinach-covered parts—wasn't so bad after all.