Lightning in the Infield

Marcus adjusted his baseball cap for the fiftieth time, trying to look casual while his heart hammered like he'd just chugged three energy drinks. The brim cast a shadow over his face – perfect for hiding the fact that he was lowkey panicking.

"You good, bro?" Jasmine asked from beside him on the bleachers. She was wearing that oversized hoodie she always wore, the one that made her look effortlessly cool while Marcus felt like a potato attempting to pass as human.

"Yeah, totally," he lied. The truth: he had spinach in his teeth. From lunch. Three hours ago. And he'd been sitting next to his crush for twenty minutes without realizing it.

The summer sky darkened. A storm was rolling in, fast.

"Coach wants to put you in," his best friend Tyler whispered, dropping onto the bench beside them. "Starting pitcher's arm is cooked."

Marcus froze. This was it – his chance to prove he wasn't just the backup anymore. To show Jasmine he could actually play. To finally be someone on this team instead of just the guy who carried equipment.

But the spinach. The cursed, emerald-green spinach from his dad's experimental "healthy lunch" phase.

"You're up!" the coach yelled.

Lightning cracked across the sky like reality itself was tearing open. Rain began to fall – big, fat drops that turned the dirt into mud within seconds. The other team's players scattered toward the dugout, but Marcus stood frozen at the pitcher's mound.

He could do this. He could pitch a perfect game AND figure out how to discreetly check his teeth without looking like a weirdo.

"Marcus!" Jasmine called from the stands. She was pointing at her own teeth, mouthing something he couldn't quite catch over the thunder.

Then she did it: she pointed at her smile, gave him a thumbs up, and yelled, "You got this!"

His heart did that thing where it forgot how to heart. She knew. She'd known this whole time and hadn't said anything because she was decent, not cruel.

Marcus grinned – spinach and all – and wound up for the first pitch. Let them see it. Let them see everything.

The ball flew.

Strike one.

The rain poured harder. Lightning flashed again, illuminating everything in electric blue. For the first time in his life, Marcus wasn't hiding. Not behind his hat, not behind his fear, and definitely not behind some stupid vegetable embarrassment.

Sometimes, he thought, spinning another perfect pitch toward the plate, you just gotta own your spinach.