Orange Crush at the Plate

Marcus stood in the batter's box, knees bent, wearing the fluorescent orange shirt his mom swore would help him stand out at tryouts. If by stand out she meant look like a human traffic cone, then mission accomplished.

"You got this, Marcus!" His best friend Kelsey yelled from the bleachers. She'd made a poster that said CRUSH IT in gold glitter that was already flaking off.

The pitcher wound up—some sophomore who'd hit a growth spurt over summer and now thought he was God's gift to the school. The ball came in fast. Marcus swung.

WHIFF.

Strike one. The team snickered. He could practically feel the judgment radiating off them like heat.

That morning, his mom had practically forced the horse-sized vitamin down his throat. "For energy! For focus! You're growing, baby, you need to fuel your body right." He'd choked it down with orange juice, trying not to gag. Now he wondered if maybe vitamins were actually secretly designed to make you worse at things.

Second pitch. Strike two.

The coach—a guy everyone called The Bull behind his back because he'd played college ball and built like a brick wall—was already shaking his head. Marcus could see it in his eyes: *another one who can't cut it.*

But then Marcus thought about his bedroom. About the glass bowl on his desk with Fin the goldfish swimming in endless circles, never giving up, never stopping. About how he'd rescued Fin from a carnival game where he'd been living in a tiny bag, given to some kid who didn't even want him. Fin had survived worse than baseball tryouts.

"C'mon, Marcus," he whispered to himself. "Just one good swing."

The third pitch came in—perfect, right down the middle. His baseball bat connected with that sweet spot that makes the sound that echoes in your dreams. CRACK.

He didn't just hit it. He sent it soaring over the left field fence, clear into the parking lot.

The Bull actually smiled. Just for a second, but it counted.

"Now THAT'S what I'm talking about," Kelsey screamed, jumping up and down so hard her poster fell.

As Marcus rounded the bases, his orange shirt suddenly didn't feel so ridiculous anymore. Maybe his mom was onto something with the confidence colors. Maybe the vitamins really did help.

Or maybe he was just tired of being the kid who stood on the sidelines.

"You're on the team," The Bull said as Marcus crossed home plate. "Don't let it go to your head."

Marcus nodded, trying to look cool instead of like he was about to cry from pure relief. That night, he'd have to tell Fin everything. And maybe tomorrow, he'd actually wear the orange shirt to school.