Stealing Home

The orange jersey was mistake number one. It screamed look at me, which was exactly what I didn't want. But Mom had ordered it online and refused to return it, so here I was, first day of freshman baseball tryouts, glowing like a radioactive traffic cone.

"You good, bro?" Tyler asked, smacking my shoulder. He'd been my best friend since fourth grade, back when we both thought we'd be in the MLB by now. Tyler actually had a shot. Me? I was just trying not to embarrass myself.

"Yeah. Just nervous."

"Don't be. Coach says everyone makes the team." He pointed toward the field. "Except that kid."

I followed his gaze. Some sophomore was literally chasing a dog—a golden retriever that had somehow wandered onto the field—while the coaches pretended not to notice. The dog darted between players, someone's baseball rolling forgotten near home plate.

"That's Marcus," Tyler said. "His sister brought the dog. Thinking about adopting it."

"Which one?"

"Either." Tyler laughed. "I'm pretty sure the dog has better batting average."

I snorted, and some of the tension in my chest loosened.

Then Coach blew his whistle. "Alright, listen up! We're doing live batting practice. And yes, Marcus, get your sister's dog off the field. Now."

Marcus dragged the retriever away, looking like he wanted to disappear into the earth. The dog seemed confused by all the attention.

I stepped into the batter's box, heart hammering. The pitcher—some junior they called The Bull because he threw rockets—eyed me like I was fresh meat.

First pitch: fastball, high and tight. I jumped back.

"Come on!" someone yelled.

Second pitch: I swung at nothing but air.

"Easy," Tyler called from the dugout. "Just make contact."

Third pitch came smoking down the middle. I didn't think. I just swung.

*CRACK.*

The ball sailed into the outfield, grass staining my orange knees as I sprinted toward first. The retriever barked excitedly from the sidelines. Tyler whooped. For a second—just one second—I felt like I actually belonged here.

Maybe the jersey wasn't so bad after all.

"Nice hit, Traffic Cone!" The Bull yelled, nodding respect.

I smiled. Yeah. I could work with that.