Strike Zone

Marcus stood at the plate, the aluminum bat feeling heavy in his hands like it always did when Jason Miller was pitching. Jason, the varsity ace who'd already committed to LSU. Jason, who'd made that comment about Marcus's batting stance last week in front of everyone.

"You gonna swing or just admire the view, bro?" Jason called from the mound, and the dugout erupted in those specific laughs that made your chest feel like it was collapsing.

Marcus tightened his grip. The sky above the field had turned that weird greenish color that meant trouble. Coach Richards blew his whistle. "Everyone inside! Storm's coming in fast!"

Practice dissolved into chaos. Marcus grabbed his gear but headed toward the woods behind the field instead of the locker room. He needed a minute. Just one minute to not feel like the backup who'd never start.

That's when he saw the cat.

It was this scraggly gray thing, its fur matted with burrs, huddled under the bleachers as the first rumble of thunder rolled overhead. The cat's yellow eyes were wide, terrified. It reminded Marcus of himself last year when he'd first tried out for varsity, how he'd felt small and exposed.

"Hey, little dude," Marcus whispered, crouching down. "It's just some noise."

Lightning cracked—a bright-white spiderweb across the sky—and the cat hissed, scrambling deeper into the shadows. Marcus didn't blame it. His own heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

But then he thought about what his dad had told him once, about how fear wasn't about being brave, it was about deciding what mattered more than being scared.

What mattered more? Letting Jason Miller's comments echo in his head forever? Or showing up tomorrow and taking batting practice like he owned the place?

Marcus reached out slowly. The cat watched him, wary but not running. "We got this," he said, more to himself than anything. "Whatever happens, we got this."

The rain started then, huge drops that soaked through his jersey. But Marcus didn't move. He stayed there, crouched in the mud with a stray cat, while lightning turned the sky into something electric and alive.

He'd be back tomorrow. He'd take his cuts. And if he struck out again, so what. At least he'd swing.

The cat crept closer and brushed its wet head against his knee. Marcus smiled. Some things were worth getting soaked for.