Orange Skies Over Left Field

Marcus stood at the edge of the diamond, his baseball cleats digging into the dirt like they were trying to escape. Tryouts were tomorrow, and his best friend since third grade, Jaylen, had already secured his spot on the varsity roster. Jaylen made it look effortless—every swing was poetry, every throw had GPS precision.

Marcus, though? Marcus was the human equivalent of a glitch. His batting average hovered somewhere near zero, and his coordination had apparently been permanently deleted.

"You're overthinking again," Jaylen said, tossing him an orange from his backpack. "Eat this. It's like, brain food or something."

"Dude, we've been eating oranges since tee-ball. If vitamin C was the secret to hitting, I'd be in the majors by now." But Marcus peeled it anyway, citrus misting into the humid afternoon air.

That evening, Marcus sat in his room with the TV on low—some old baseball game his dad had DVR'd ages ago. The coaxial cable had been loose for months, making players flicker in and out like ghosts. It felt metaphorical, in a cringey way. Like his entire social life was just poor signal reception.

His phone buzzed. Jaylen: Cancel our plans. Devon's having people over. You know how it is.

Marcus stared at the screen. This had been happening all summer—Jaylen getting invited places, Marcus orbiting on the edges. Maybe he'd been the backup friend all along. The orange peel sat on his desk, already drying at the edges.

The next day at tryouts, Marcus stood in the batter's box, heart hammering. The pitcher wound up and released—a perfect fastball, right down the middle. Marcus swung.

*CRACK.*

The ball sailed toward left field, climbing against an orange sunset that looked like someone had set the sky on fire. It kept going, past the outfielder's desperate reach, over the fence. A home run. His first ever.

Jaylen whooped from the dugout, actually jumping up. That was the thing about real friends—they showed up for the moments that mattered, even if they sucked at the in-between parts.

"Did you see that?" Marcus yelled, grinning so hard his face hurt.

"Yeah, bro," Jaylen called back. "About time."

Later, they sat on the bleachers, sharing another orange and watching the sky deepen from orange to purple. Maybe friendship wasn't about being inseparable. Maybe it was just about having someone who'd been there for enough of your strikeouts to genuinely celebrate when you finally connected.

"You gonna make the team," Jaylen said, not asking.

Marcus smiled, peeling another section of orange. "Yeah. I think I might."