Strikeout in the Infield

Marcus's palms were sweating so much he could barely grip the **orange** Gatorade bottle. Tryouts for the varsity **baseball** team were in ten minutes, and he had zero business being there. But Shay needed a ride, and somehow Marcus had agreed to this whole nightmare.

"You're not actually going through with this, right?" Shay asked, raising an eyebrow. Her **palm**-sized hands fidgeted with her phone. "You haven't picked up a bat since little league."

"Shut up, I'm totally athletic," Marcus lied. His stomach did somersaults. He'd been **running** from this moment since Shay mentioned it yesterday, but here he was, wearing his sister's oversized baseball jersey because he didn't own any gear.

Coach Martinez blew his whistle. "Alright, show me what you got!"

Marcus stepped to the plate, heart hammering. First pitch: swing and a miss. Second: same. Third: somehow, miraculously, he made contact. The ball soared into left field, and he took off **running** like his life depended on it. First base, second base—his lungs burned, his legs pumped. He slid into third, victorious.

"Not bad!" someone called out. Marcus stood up, grinning like an idiot.

"Hey, nice hit," Shay said, but she was giggling. "You got a little..."

She pointed at his teeth. Marcus's stomach dropped. He'd grabbed a **spinach** wrap from the cafeteria because he was trying to be healthy or whatever, and now the evidence was plastered across his smile for everyone to see.

"Bro, you got green stuff everywhere," Tyler, the actual first baseman, said—wait, was he laughing? Not mean-laughing. Like, actually amused.

"Spinach," Marcus mumbled. "Trying to be healthy. Failed."

"Honestly?" Tyler grinned. "That slide was pretty sick for a theater kid. You should join the team."

"What?"

"We need someone with your energy. Plus," he lowered his voice, "anyone who can slide into third with spinach in their teeth and not care? That's confidence."

Marcus looked at Shay, who shrugged. "I mean... you did crush that hit."

His **palms** still smelled like nervous sweat, his jersey was still two sizes too big, and he definitely had **spinach** in his teeth. But for the first time, Marcus didn't want to run away from being seen.

"Alright," he said. "I'm in."