Lightning in the Fifth Inning

The vitamin D gummy my mom shoved in my hand that morning felt like a bribe. "You need sunshine, Marcus, even when there isn't any," she'd said, which was rich considering she was the reason I was even at this stupid baseball game.

I adjusted my snapback hat—worn backward because that's what Tyler does—and tried to look like I belonged. Tyler, whose very existence made my hands sweat. Tyler, who I'd been crushing on since seventh period English started three weeks ago. Tyler, who was currently leaning against the bleacher fence two rows down, laughing at something someone said.

My dad's beagle, Buster, was supposed to be my emotional support animal for the day, but he was currently more interested in the hot dog wrapper near my feet than my existential crisis.

"Yo, Marcus!" Tyler called up to me. My stomach did that embarrassing flip thing. "You coming down?"

"Yeah," I managed, my voice cracking. Smooth. Real smooth.

I stood up, stepping over Buster, who decided this was his moment to shine. He bolted.

Directly toward Tyler.

"Buster, no!" I shouted, tripping over my own feet and practically launching myself down the bleachers. People were staring. This was it. This was how my social life died.

But then—lightning. Actual lightning cracked across the sky, and the whole stadium went quiet for a split second before the announcer's voice boomed: "WEATHER DELAY, EVERYONE TO THE CONCESSIONS!"

Chaos. People scattering. And in the confusion, Buster reached Tyler, tail wagging like he'd just won the dog lottery. Tyler laughed, dropping to his knees to scratch behind Buster's ears.

When I finally reached them, face burning, Tyler looked up with this grin that made my chest feel weird.

"Your dog's legendary," he said. "Hey, you want to hang out under the concession overhang until the storm passes?"

I nodded, probably too enthusiastically. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

As we walked through the crowd, Tyler's shoulder brushed against mine, and I thought about how sometimes the worst moments—the vitamin-related embarrassments, the public failures—can turn into something exactly like lightning: sudden, terrifying, and completely illuminating.