Strike Out, Swipe Left

The baseball sat heavy in my glove like a judgment I wasn't ready to face. Varsity tryouts, junior year, my last shot to not be the kid who peaked in eighth grade PE.

"You got this, Marcus," Jordan said, but his iphone was already out, probably tweeting about my impending failure. Jordan was my best friend, but he was also the kind of guy who lived-tweeted his own life.

Coach Miller blew the whistle. "Last batter. Don't mess it up."

The guy stepping up to the plate was Tyler—same guy who'd made my life hell since seventh grade. The absolute bull of our school, built like a truck, had already knocked two homers into orbit. I could feel myself sweating through my jersey.

First pitch: ball. Second: swing and miss. Third: fouled back, way too close to my face. I was practically vibrating.

Then it happened—the kind of moment your brain plays in slow motion. Tyler connected. The ball launched toward center field, and I took off running. My legs were pumping, everything in me screaming GO GO GO. I tracked it, leaped, glove extended—

And then my iphone, which I'd somehow forgotten was in my back pocket, took flight.

It slipped out mid-jump, and I watched in horror as my $800 relationship with the modern world sailed through the air like the most expensive bird in history. The ball landed safely in my glove. I made the out. But my phone? My phone kept going, landing somewhere in the tall grass beyond the fence.

Lightning cracked across the sky—nature's dramatic timing. Coach Miller yelled for everyone to get inside as the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

I stood there, glove in one hand, the other pointing uselessly at where my phone had disappeared. Tyler, the guy who'd been terrorizing me for years, started laughing. Not mean laughter—he was actually cracking up.

"Dude," he called out, jogging over through the rain. "That was legendary. You literally threw your phone to make that catch."

"It fell out," I said, feeling my face burn.

"Whatever. That was sick." He looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time in three years. "We're doing baseball pizza at Luigi's tonight. You should come."

I found my phone in the grass later—screen shattered, but somehow still working. By the time I got home, I had three new friend requests and a text from Tyler: "u coming or what?"

Some days you strike out. Some days you catch the ball and accidentally sacrifice your phone to the baseball gods. And sometimes, somehow, that's exactly how your life finally starts.