Spinach and Shadows

The fox appeared at twilight, its rusty coat glowing against the chain-link fence by the baseball field. I sat in the dugout, supposed to be warming up, but really just spiraling. Tryouts tomorrow. My stomach doing more flips than a gymnastics team.

"You're gonna wear a hole in that cleat," Harper said, sliding in beside me. She knew everything—sometimes I swear she could literally read minds. Had to be the best spy in the sophomore class. "Stressing about the cut again?"

"No," I lied. "Just. Thinking."

About how my dad played college ball. About how everyone expected me to follow. About how I'd rather be literally anywhere else.

The fox darted away as Harper's cat—a bossy calico named Scully that followed her everywhere— trotted onto the field like she owned it. The fox gave one last look, almost like it was laughing at us, then vanished.

"Your mom still making you eat that spinach stuff?" Harper asked, changing the subject like she always did when things got too real.

"Gross. Yes. It's revolting."

"Worth it though, right? All those muscles." She grinned, and I felt my face heat up. Harper had that effect on me. Had since seventh grade, when she'd punched Tyler Morrison for making fun of my backpack.

Coach blew the whistle. Practice was starting. But for a second, I didn't move. Just watched the empty space where the fox had been.

"Hey," Harper said quietly. "Whatever happens tomorrow... you're more than just baseball. Just so you know."

Then she jogged onto the field, and I stood there, heart doing that weird fluttery thing, not from nerves this time. Outside, somewhere, a fox was running wild and free. And for the first time in forever, I kind of felt like I could be too.