Poolside Strikeout

Marcus stood at the plate, sweat dripping down his temple, gripping the bat like his life depended on it. Coach Miller's voice echoed across the field: "Come on, Hernandez! eyes on the ball!"

But Marcus's eyes were on his iPhone, sitting on the bench in the dugout, screen lighting up with notifications from the pool party he was missing. Maya was there. Maya, with her laugh that sounded like wind chimes and her emoji game that was somehow both chaotic and adorable. She'd been flirting with him all week, and tonight—tonight was supposed to be when he finally made a move.

Instead, here he was, stuck at baseball practice because his dad had signed him up for summer league without even asking. Because family tradition meant everything, apparently.

"Hernandez!" Coach barked. "Focus!"

The pitch came. Marcus swung. Missed.

"Strike three!" the umpire called.

As he walked back to the dugout, defeated, his phone buzzed again. A text from Maya: "where r u??? pool's empty without u 😔"

His heart did that stupid fluttery thing it did whenever she messaged him. Something in him snapped.

"Coach," Marcus called out, his voice cracking. "I gotta go."

Coach stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "We've got three innings left."

"I know." Marcus grabbed his backpack. "But some things are more important than baseball."

He jogged toward the parking lot, phone in hand, fingers typing: "omw. trust me, i'm coming."

The pool party was in full swing when he arrived, chlorine and sunscreen hanging in the humid evening air. Maya floated on a neon pink flamingo, hair wet and perfect, scrolling through her phone. When she saw him, she smiled—a real, unfiltered smile that made his chest feel weird.

"You came," she said, paddling over.

"Yeah." Marcus stood at the pool's edge, sneakers and all. "Sorry I'm late. Baseball ran long."

Maya splashed water at him. "Well, get in here, Hernandez. We've been waiting."

He took off his cleats and jumped in, phone in his pocket (waterproof case, thank god), baseball uniform and all. The water was perfect, the moment was perfect, and for the first time all summer, Marcus felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Sometimes, he thought as Maya splashed him again, laughing, sometimes you have to strike out to hit a home run.