Riddles at Third Strike

Marcus stood at the plate, sweat dripping down his temple like he'd been **running** marathons instead of just facing three pitches. The summer air was thick with humidity and anticipation—the kind that makes everything feel possible and terrible at the same time.

"You got this, baby!" his dad yelled from the bleachers, his voice cutting through the **baseball** field chatter. Marcus tightened his grip on the bat. His dad had been pushing him since Little League, constantly talking about scholarships and scouts, like Marcus's entire future depended on whether he could hit this ball.

He struck out swinging.

The dugout was quiet except for the occasional shuffle of cleats. Marcus sat alone, replaying the moment in his head. That's when Jenna slid next to him, tossing her hair like she was in a shampoo commercial instead of a team that hadn't won a game all season.

"Hey, Sphinx," she teased. "You've been brooding since practice. What's the riddle this time?"

She'd started calling him Sphinx last week after he'd gotten lost in thought during English and refused to tell anyone what he was thinking about. Marcus kind of loved it.

"Just... my dad's been on my case about this showcase tournament next week," Marcus admitted, surprised at his own honesty. "He's got this whole narrative about how baseball is my ticket out of here."

Jenna pulled a tangled **cable** from her pocket—earphones, Marcus realized—and started unwinding it like she was solving a puzzle. "Parents project their dreams onto us like we're blank screens. My mom thinks I'm gonna be a doctor because I watch Grey's Anatomy."

Marcus laughed. "At least she's not timing your sprints with a stopwatch."

"Touché." She nudged his shoulder. "Hey, you know what would mess with your dad's head? If you quit baseball and joined the swim team."

"**Swimming**? Are you kidding? I can barely doggy-paddle."

"Exactly. Think about it—his star baseball player, trading cleats for Speedos. The drama would be legendary." Jenna's eyes sparkled with mischief. "We could go to the pool tonight. I'll teach you. It'll be our rebellion."

Marcus looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time all season, the pressure lifted. Maybe that's what growing up felt like—not figuring everything out, but finding people who made the confusion bearable.

"I'm in," he said. "But if I drown, I'm haunting you forever."

"Deal." She grinned. "Now let's get out of here before Coach makes us run laps for mentally haunting the game."

As they walked away from the field, Marcus didn't care about the scouts or the scholarships. For the first time, he was ready to dive into whatever came next, even if he couldn't see the bottom.