Riddles at the Plate

Marcus stood at the edge of Jen's backyard pool, clutching a red Solo cup like it was a lifeline. His first real party. The water looked inviting, but so did the shadows along the fence where he could hide and pretend to check nonexistent notifications on his phone.

"Hey! Freshman!" Chase, the varsity baseball captain, waved him over. "You're up."

"Up for what?" Marcus asked, already regretting leaving the safety of the snack table.

"Chicken fight. You and Jordan versus me and Riley." Chase cracked his knuckles. "Unless you're scared."

The word *scared* hit like a fastball to the chest. Marcus had spent all year avoiding attention, mastering the art of being invisible. But here was Jordan, that cute sophomore from his English class, already in the pool, smiling at him.

His phone buzzed in his pocket — his mom wondering where he was. He silenced it. Some things you didn't tell your parents.

"I'm in," Marcus said, kicking off his flip-flops.

Cold water swallowed him whole. Swimming to the deep end, he tried to remember every water safety lesson from eighth grade PE. Jordan's hands gripped his shoulders, and suddenly they were lifting him, his world reduced to balance and not accidentally grabbing somewhere inappropriate.

"Foul ball!" someone shouted as Marcus tumbled backward, surfacing spluttering while Chase and Riley did some weird victory dance that involved entirely too much pelvic thrusting for public display.

"Rematch," Jordan said, eyes bright. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Marcus lied, pushing wet hair off his forehead. " Totally."

Then Riley was right there, too close, wearing that sphinx-like expression that meant she knew something you didn't.

"You're different than I thought," she said.

"Different?"

"Most freshmen wouldn't have gotten back in the water after going under like that." Her lips curved. "You've got... presence."

Marcus felt himself turning twelve shades of crimson, which was definitely not the vibe he was going for.

Chase suddenly appeared behind them, dumping a net full of water into the pool. Something silver flashed in the artificial light.

"No way," Jordan said. "Are those actual *goldfish*?"

"Pet store, twenty bucks worth," Chase grinned. "Tradition. Last day of school, we set them free. Live your best life, little dudes."

Marcus watched the tiny fish dart through chlorinated water, completely unaware they'd just been released into captivity by drunk juniors. The whole night felt like that — everyone playing at being grown-up, nobody actually knowing what they were doing.

"That's so random," he said, then winced. Random. He'd said random. The most 2016 word possible.

But Jordan laughed. "Right? Like, actual goldfish. Who does that?"

Their knees brushed underwater. Marcus's heart did something complicated that should probably require a medical professional.

Later, wrapped in a towel and sitting on the back patio watching the party swirl around them, Jordan passed him a lukewarm soda.

"You know," Jordan said, "you're actually pretty cool. For a freshman."

"I'll take it," Marcus said, and meant it.

His phone buzzed again. Mom. But he didn't answer this time either. Some transformations happened underwater, where no one could see them happening until you surfaced someone new.

He watched the goldfish shimmering in the pool light and thought about first bases and foul balls and sphinxes who smiled like they knew your secrets before you did. High school was weird. But maybe, just maybe, he was starting to figure out how to play the game.