Strike Zone Orange

Marcus stood at home plate, the baseball bat feeling like a foreign object in his hands. He'd joined the summer league because his dad kept hinting about "being a man," but honestly? He'd rather be gaming.

"You're gripping it like you're scared of it," said Tia, the team's shortstop, leaning against the chain-link fence. She was wearing this bright orange hoodie that clashed with everything but somehow worked on her. Like, actually worked.

"Maybe I am scared of it," Marcus muttered, adjusting his glasses. "This thing's heavy."

Tia laughed, tossing her ponytail. "Dude, it's a bat, not a physics textbook. Though you probably treat those with more confidence."

Marcus cracked a smile. Tia had this way of roasting people that felt like getting high-fived. They'd had Math together last year, and she'd caught him doodling anime characters in his notebook instead of taking notes. Instead of snitching, she'd drawn a mustache on his main character.

Then the sky went that weird orange color that meant a storm was rolling in fast.

"Coach is calling it," Tia said, as the first rumble of thunder shook the metal bleachers. "Want to hang at the dugout until your mom comes?"

They sat on the bench watching the clouds turn charcoal-colored, the orange fading like a memory. Marcus's phone buzzed—his mom saying she'd be late.

"My mom's stuck in traffic," he said. " Figures."

"Mine too," Tia said, then paused. "Hey, can I tell you something?"

The way she said it made Marcus's chest feel weird. Like, lightning-strike weird.

"I only joined baseball because I thought it would make people stop seeing me as 'the smart girl.' Like, maybe if I was athletic, people would talk to me about something other than homework help."

Marcus stared at her. He'd always assumed Tia had it together—popular, smart, confident. But she was just guessing at life too.

"I joined because my dad thinks sports will 'build character'," Marcus admitted. "But honestly? I'd rather be drawing."

Tia smiled, and it was different from her usual smirk—softer. "You should show me your drawings sometime. Like, not the ones in Math class. The real ones."

A flash of lightning illuminated the entire field. For a second, everything was bright and weird and perfect.

"Yeah," Marcus said. "I'd like that."

The rain started pouring down, and they didn't even run for cover.