Spinach Teeth & Sweaty Palms

Marcus's palms were sweating. Like, actually dripping onto his jeans. He checked them again—yup, still moist.

"Dude, you good?" Tyler asked, crunching his baseball cleats into the dirt.

"Fine," Marcus lied. "Just ready to crush this."

The baseball tryouts were in twenty minutes. Marcus had been practicing his swing for weeks, hitting imaginary home runs in his backyard until his neighbor called the cops on him for "being weird after midnight." Worth it.

But there was a problem. A big one. Her name was Samantha Fox. Everyone called her "The Fox" because she was sneaky gorgeous and somehow managed to befriend everyone while staying completely unbothered. She was sitting in the bleachers right now, laughing with her friends, and Marcus could feel his throat tightening.

"You're staring," Tyler whispered. "Weird intensity."

"Am not."

"Are too. Also, you've got—" Tyler pointed at his own teeth.

Marcus froze. He'd had that smoothie with kale and spinach for breakfast. The HEALTHY one. The one his mom said would give him "energy and focus." Instead, it had given him green shrapnel lodged in his front teeth.

"WHY didn't you tell me?!" Marcus hissed, frantically trying to dislodge it with his tongue. No use. It was stubborn. Like, really stubborn.

"I tried!" Tyler protested. "You were too busy flexing!"

Coach Miller blew his whistle. "Alright, let's see what you got. Hernandez, you're up!"

This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for. Marcus stepped to the plate, his heart pounding, sweat literally pouring down his face. The Fox was watching. He had one shot to not completely embarrass himself in front of the prettiest girl in tenth grade AND make the team.

The pitcher wound up and—

Strike one.

Marcus shook it off. He adjusted his grip. His palms were so slippery he could barely hold the bat.

"Come on, Hernandez! Quit shaking!" someone yelled from the dugout. It was Miller—the actual bull of the school, the guy who'd made everyone's life miserable since seventh grade.

Marcus narrowed his eyes. Something snapped. Maybe it was the spinach shame. Maybe it was Miller's voice. Maybe it was just—

The next pitch came. Fast.

CRACK.

The ball sailed over the fence. A legitimate home run.

The field went silent. Then everyone went nuts. Even Miller looked shocked, jaw literally hanging open.

Marcus jogged the bases, grinning so hard his face hurt. As he rounded third, he caught Samantha's eye. She was smiling. Actually smiling.

When he got back to the dugout, Tyler practically tackled him. "DUDE! Did you see—wait."

He pointed.

"What?"

"The spinach. It's gone."

Marcus grinned. "Guess that home run knocked it loose."

"Grossest thing I've ever heard," Tyler said, handing him a Gatorade. "But also, pretty badass."

Marcus took it, palms still sweaty, heart still racing, but for the first time in forever, he didn't care. He'd made the team. He'd impressed the Fox. And somehow, someway, he'd survived the most embarrassing twenty minutes of his entire life.

"We'll see," he said, glancing at Samantha one more time. "We'll see."