Greens and Groundouts

Marcus slid into the dugout bench, trying to act like he belonged there. JV baseball tryouts, freshman year. The ultimate test of everything.

"Yo Capriotti," Ryan called out, tapping his own temple. "You got something..."

Marcus swiped at his teeth. His dad's spinach smoothie. Again. "Nah, I'm good."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Sure about that? 'Cause you look like you just ate a salad with your front teeth."

The whole dugout erupted. Marcus felt his face burning hotter than the asphalt. "It's... my mom's into this health thing," he mumbled, which wasn't technically a lie. His dad was the one obsessed with "nutritional optimization" for his "student-athlete," but whatever. Details.

Coach blew the whistle. "Batting practice! Let's see what you got."

Marcus stepped up, his hands sweating through his batting gloves. His dad had spent all winter drilling him: swing mechanics, core strength, vision training. The homemade vitamin packets—"proprietary blend," his dad called them, like he was some biohacking genius instead of a guy who watched too many YouTube videos.

First pitch: fastball, middle-in. Marcus swung. Hard.

*POP.* Foul ball.

"Easy, Capriotti," Ryan said, sliding his helmet on. "You're trying too hard."

Marcus gripped the bat tighter. His dad's voice echoed in his head: *Trust your training. You've put in the work.* But had he? Or had he just spent months choking down green sludge and swallowing pills that smelled like a science project?

Next pitch: changeup, low.

*CRACK.*

Line drive to left-center. Marcus was already rounding first when he heard Coach's voice: "That's what I'm talking about!"

He stopped at second, chest heaving. Ryan gave him a nod—not mocking, but... something else. Respect?

"Not bad," Ryan said, sliding into the base next to him. "For a guy who eats his vegetables."

Marcus laughed, actually laughed. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta balance out all the junk you guys eat."

"Fair." Ryan stood up, dusting off his pants. "Hey, you coming to the diner after?"

"Probably." Marcus grinned. "But I'm getting fries. Screw the smoothies."

Ryan laughed. "Revolutionary."

Walking home later, Marcus texted his dad: *Made the team.*

His dad replied immediately: *Knew it. The protocol works. We'll discuss Phase Two tonight.*

Marcus stared at his phone. Then he typed back: *Can't tonight. Team dinner.*

His pocket buzzed. *Understood. Social integration is key. Bring me back some details.*

Marcus slipped his phone away and jogged the rest of the way home, grinning. He'd figure out the spinach situation later. For now, he'd take the win—and the fries.