Stray Pitch

Leo's dad lived in the glory of his varsity baseball days, constantly replaying stories from 1999 like they were yesterday. Now here Leo stood, center field, praying the ball wouldn't come his way.

"Your arm, Leo! Remember what we practiced!" his dad yelled from the bleachers. Leo flinched. Behind the dugout, a calico cat—his secret friend—watched through the fence, somehow mocking him with her chill vibe.

The crack of a bat. The ball soared toward him, a white comet against the sky. Leo's legs moved like they were someone else's, stiff and wrong. He tripped. The ball dropped. Laughter rippled through the infield.

"After the game," Coach Miller said, pulling him aside, "try these performance vitamins. My son swears by them."

The orange bottle sat in Leo's locker like some kind of radioactive substance. Performance vitamins. Like he could supplement his way into being someone he wasn't.

That night, Leo crept behind the dugout with a sandwich. The cat appeared like she'd been waiting. He called her Vitamin now, because she was the only thing that actually made him feel better.

"I don't even like baseball," he whispered, scratching behind her ears. "I hate it. I hate how everyone looks at me like I'm supposed to be him."

Vitamin headbutted his hand, like, *then why are you doing this?*

The next game, Leo stood in the outfield, the orange bottle in his pocket. He could feel them there, little capsules of expectation and pressure. His dad watched. Coach Miller watched. The whole world watched.

A ball came his way. Leo's hands moved before he could overthink it—smooth, easy, a perfect catch. The crowd roared. His dad jumped up, whooping.

Leo stared at the ball in his glove, then at the calico behind the fence.

He walked to the dugout, pulled the vitamin bottle from his pocket, and dropped it in the trash.

"Good game," his dad said afterward, beaming. "See? It's in your blood."

"Yeah," Leo said, already thinking about which colleges had good photography programs. "Maybe."

Vitamin was waiting when he left, and for the first time, Leo didn't feel like he was playing someone else's game.