Seventh Inning Stretch

Marcus choked on his gummy **vitamin** for the third time that morning while staring at the tryout poster on his bedroom wall. County Baseball Team. First practice today. His hands were already sweating thinking about it.

"You're gonna be fine, bro," his sister called from the hallway. "You've been practicing in the backyard since forever."

Easy for her to say. She didn't have sweaty **palms** every time someone mentioned sports. Marcus wasn't even supposed to be athletic — he was the quiet kid who sat in the back of class, the one everyone forgot existed. But something about baseball had clicked when he started watching games with his grandpa last summer. The crack of the bat, the strategy, the way the whole crowd held its breath...

His **dog**, Buster, nudged his hand with a wet nose. Buster was a disaster — part terrier, part vacuum cleaner, all chaos. But he was also the only one who'd watched Marcus hit countless tennis balls into the old **palm** tree in their backyard, barking encouragement every time.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," Marcus told Buster, grabbing his glove.

The field was already buzzing when he arrived. Guys in cleats, girls with their own gloves, everyone laughing and talking like they'd known each other forever. Marcus felt like he'd walked into the wrong party. His stomach did that thing where it wanted to exit his body.

"Hey! You trying out?"

Marcus turned. A girl with curly hair and the kind of easy confidence he'd been faking his whole life stood there, spinning a baseball in her hand like she'd been born doing it.

"Um. Yeah?"

"I'm Jordan. Shortstop, hopefully." She grinned. "You look like you're about to throw up. No offense."

"None taken. That's exactly how I feel."

"First time?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only a little." Jordan tossed him the ball. He caught it without thinking. "Not bad. You play before?"

"Backyard stuff. Me and my **dog**. I mostly hit balls at this **palm** tree until my neighbor yells at me."

"Classic training method." Jordan winked. "Hey, nobody here cares if you're amazing yet. We're all just trying to get better. That's kind of the point."

Coach blew the whistle before Marcus could respond.

By the end of practice, Marcus had made three solid hits, struck out twice, and accidentally pegged Jordan in the shoulder during warm-ups. She'd just laughed and said it built character. His palms didn't even feel sweaty anymore.

"Same time tomorrow?" Jordan asked as they packed up.

"Yeah. Definitely."

Walking home with Buster trotting beside him, Marcus actually felt... good. Not perfect, not suddenly confident, but like he was allowed to still be figuring it out. The vitamin he'd choked on that morning suddenly felt like a weirdly perfect metaphor — sometimes growth just takes a little getting used to.

He texted his sister: made the team. sort of. didn't embarrass myself too bad.

She replied instantly: PROUD OF YOU. also Buster says he knew it all along.

Marcus smiled. Some things, you didn't need to be told twice.