Nothing Hits Like The Bull

Marcus stood at the plate, knees literally shaking, wearing the brightest orange jersey in the entire league. His mom had ordered it online—"it'll boost your confidence," she'd said. Now he just looked like a traffic cone with a bat.

"You're up, rook!" someone yelled from the dugout. Great. His first varsity at-bat, and he was about to humiliate himself in front of everyone. Especially Maya, who was sitting in the bleachers, probably laughing at his neon fashion statement.

The pitcher wound up—a senior who'd already signed with a D1 school. The ball came flying at Marcus's head.

He didn't flinch. That's what he told himself later.

In reality, he'd frozen solid. The ball slammed into his shoulder pads with a sickening THUD that echoed across the field. His body hit the dirt, pain exploding through his arm, orange filling his vision as he gasped for air.

Everyone rushed over. "You okay, kid?" The D1 pitcher actually looked concerned.

Marcus nodded, forcing himself to stand. His shoulder throbbed. Maya was watching. The whole team was watching. And suddenly he remembered last summer—walking past Miller's farm, when that massive bull had charged the fence. He'd been terrified, but he hadn't run. He'd stood his ground, staring into those wild eyes, heart hammering until the bull backed down.

He could do this.

"Again," Marcus said, his voice cracking only slightly.

The umpire stared at him. "You sure, son? You took a bull to the shoulder."

He stepped back in the box. The orange jersey wasn't embarrassing anymore—it was war paint. Next pitch came, low and outside. Marcus didn't swing. Ball one. Two more pitches, two more balls. Full count.

The last pitch came, and everything slowed down. Marcus's bat connected with the sweet spot. The ball soared over the second baseman's head, landing in the outfield grass. A stand-up double.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" his teammates screamed as he reached second base, breathless and grinning like an idiot.

Maya was definitely watching now.

That orange stain on his shoulder from the dirt wouldn't wash out for three weeks. Marcus didn't care. Some hits, you feel forever.