Riddle of the Mound

Leo's cleats dug into the red dirt as the bull — their high school's mascot costume, currently worn by sophomore Tyler — lumbered toward the pitcher's mound. The crowd roared as Tyler, head of the costume wobbling dramatically, pretended to charge at the umpire.

"Dude, that's actually iconic," said Maya, leaning against the backstop fence. She was everything Leo wasn't: effortless confidence, varsity jacket always perfectly positioned, hair that somehow looked good even after gym class.

Leo gripped his baseball cap. "Yeah. Awesome."

He was trying out for the team tomorrow. Again. Third time's charm, right? The first two attempts had been disasters of epic proportions — overthinking, missing catches, his arms moving like they belonged to someone else entirely.

"You're thinking too loud," Maya said, sliding next to him. "Like, actual decibels of anxiety radiating off you."

"I'm not—" Leo started.

"You are." She grinned. "Hey, you know what Mr. Harrison said about that Egypt unit? The Great Sphinx posed a riddle: what walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening?"

"A person," Leo recited automatically. "Baby, adult, old person with a cane. We learned this last week."

"Right, but the point is." Maya turned to face him. "Maybe you're treating baseball like it's this giant impossible riddle. But it's not. It's just you and the ball. You're overthinking the sphinx when you should just be playing baseball."

Leo stared at her. "That's the worst sports metaphor I've ever heard."

"But am I wrong?"

The truth hit him like a pitch to the chest. He had been treating every tryout like solving an unsolvable puzzle, analyzing every angle, every possible outcome, until he paralyzed himself with possibilities.

"No," Leo said slowly. "You're not wrong."

"Good. Now watch." Maya pointed as Tyler the bull did an unexpected cartwheel in the mascot costume. "Also, comedy. Find the funny. Baseball's ridiculous when you think about it. Grown people hitting sticks at balls and running in circles."

Leo laughed. It felt real.

"See?" Maya bumped his shoulder with hers. "Tomorrow, just show up and play. Don't solve the riddle. Just swing."

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in impossible purples and oranges. The bull mascot was now doing what appeared to be the worm to whatever song was playing over the speakers. The absurdity of everything suddenly felt okay.

"Hey Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For, you know. Whatever that was."

"Anytime, Baseball Boy." She pushed off the fence. "Try not to think about it too much."

Leo watched her walk away, already planning what he'd say tomorrow if someone asked why he was smiling at nothing. The answer came easily — he wouldn't explain. He'd just swing.