Saltwater & Batting Practice

The waves crashed against the shore as Marcus sat alone on the sand, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He'd been coming to this beach since he was little, but everything felt different now. Different because Tyrell wasn't here.

Tyrell, his best friend since seventh grade, who'd ghosted him after making varsity. Who'd started sitting with the popular kids at lunch, leaving Marcus to eat alone with his earbuds in. Who'd looked right through him in the hallways yesterday, like Marcus had become invisible.

Marcus gripped the baseball in his hand, digging his fingers into the seams. He'd found it on their old practice field—the one behind the elementary school where they'd spent countless summer afternoons. The leather was worn soft, the way it should be.

The coastal water lapped at his sneakers, but he didn't move. Let them get soaked. Whatever.

"Thought I'd find you here."

Marcus jumped. Tyrell stood above him, hands shoved in his pockets, looking everywhere but at Marcus.

"You came," Marcus said, surprised to hear his voice so steady.

"Yeah, well." Tyrell sat beside him, careful to leave space between them. "I've been moving through life like a zombie lately, you know? Practices, homework, parties where I don't actually know anyone. It's like I'm performing being someone I'm not."

He paused, and for the first time, he met Marcus's eyes.

"I missed this. Just sitting. Not having to be on."

Marcus hesitated, then held out the baseball. Tyrell's palm wrapped around it automatically, muscle memory from a hundred throws between them. They sat like that for a long time, watching the sky purple at the edges.

"Varsity tried to get me to cut my hair," Tyrell said suddenly. "Said it wasn't 'team image.'"

Marcus snorted. "They'd literally die."

"Right?" Tyrell grinned, and for a second, it was just them again. "Anyway. I'm sorry. About everything. I got caught up in... I don't know. Being seen, I guess. But I'd rather have a real friend than a hundred fake ones."

Marcus bumped his shoulder against Tyrell's. "We've got tryouts next week. Same old field?"

"Same old field," Tyrell agreed. "But first, I'm starving. You down for tacos?"

Marcus stood up and grabbed his board. "Only if they have that spicy salsa you hate."

"You're the worst." But Tyrell was laughing as they walked toward the boardwalk, and somehow, things felt like they might actually be okay.