Orange Juice and the Bull

The fluorescent lights of the dugout hummed against Leo's pounding headache. He'd choked down his mom's horse-sized multivitamin that morning—the one she swore would make him grow six inches by summer—but right now, it just felt like a rock sitting in his stomach, judging him.

"You ready, Rook?"

Marcus. They called him The Bull because he hit baseballs like they personally insulted his entire family. The guy was built like a vending machine and had the personality of one too. Leo adjusted his orange batting helmet—his lucky color, or at least that's what he'd told himself when he bought it on clearance.

"Born ready," Leo lied.

He stepped up to the plate, heart doing gymnastics. This was it. Sophomore year, varsity tryouts, and he was about to face the scariest pitcher in the district. The Bull wound up and fired. Leo swung at nothing but air.

"Strike one!"

The dugout erupted in whispers. Leo's face burned hotter than a furnace. He could feel it—everyone watching, waiting for him to crash and burn. Again.

Second pitch: a curveball that looked like it was coming straight at his head before breaking dramatically over the plate. Leo froze. Strike two.

"C'mon, kid! You gonna swing or just admire the view?" someone yelled from the bleachers. Probably Jason, always had something to say.

Leo dug his cleats into the red dirt. He remembered what his dad had told him last season: Baseball ain't about being perfect. It's about being perfect at the right moment.

The Bull's third pitch came—a fastball, right down the middle. Leo's bat connected with that sweet, crisp sound that every player lives for. The ball soared over the left fielder's head, bouncing all the way to the fence.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Leo tore around the bases, lungs burning, legs pumping, orange helmet flying off somewhere between second and third. He slid into home plate, dust everywhere, grinning so hard his face hurt.

Marcus stood on the mound, frozen, then slowly nodded. One sharp, approving nod.

"Not bad, Rook," The Bull called out. "Not bad at all."

Leo's hands shook as he stood up, but this time, it wasn't from fear. The vitamin in his stomach didn't feel like a rock anymore—it felt like fuel.