Storm Warning at the Plate

Leo shuffled through third period like a zombie, his eyes crusty from watching baseball highlights until 3 AM. His phone buzzed in his pocket—probably another text from the group chat roasting him for yesterday's practice.

"Nice swing, Edison," Tyler had sneered after Leo struck out. "Maybe try batting right-handed next time."

Tyler was a bull of a sophomore—built like a tank, acted like one too. He'd been terrorizing the JV team since tryouts, and nobody dared to push back. Not even the coach, who just called it "tough love."

"You good?" Maya asked at lunch, eyeing Leo's untouched sandwich.

"Just tired." Leo poked at his chips. "And my sister's goldfish died this morning. She's devastated. It was... weirdly sad. That fish lived through, like, three moves and a basement flood."

Maya reached over and squeezed his hand. "That's actually really profound. You need sleep, though. Game's at four."

The sky turned charcoal by the time they hit the field. Coach herded everyone into the dugout as the first rumble of thunder rolled across the valley. But Tyler strutted to home plate, bat slung over his shoulder like he owned the weather.

"Scared of a little rain, Edison?"

Something snapped in Leo's chest. All the exhaustion, the anxiety, his sister's tears over that stupid orange fish—"I'm done." He grabbed a bat and followed Tyler to the plate. "Pitch."

Tyler's eyes went wide, then lit with something like respect. He tossed the ball up and smashed a line drive that Leo somehow, impossibly, connected with. The ball arced toward the fence as lightning cracked the sky open, painting everything white-blue.

For three seconds, nobody breathed.

"Holy shit," Tyler said.

"Yeah," Leo managed, his heart hammering. "Holy shit."

Tyler extended a fist. "You're all right, Edison." He paused. "Sorry about your fish."

The first drop hit Leo's cheek as they sprinted for the dugout, laughing like idiots, the storm breaking wide open behind them.