Strikeout in the Storm

The baseball cap pulled low over my eyes wasn't doing its job. Not really. I was still hyper-aware of Jordan watching from the bleachers, probably wondering why I kept choking on easy pitches.

"You good, Marcus?" Coach yelled across the field.

"Yeah, just..." I adjusted my hat for the fiftieth time. "Just adjusting."

Truth was, I wasn't built for baseball. My brother was the star player, the one whose jersey still hung in the hallway like a trophy. Me? I was just filling space because someone had to play left field.

The sky had that weird greenish tint that meant trouble. Summer storms in Texas came fast and mean—everyone knew that. But Coach kept us running drills.

"One more inning," Jordan called out from the stands. Their voice carried over the field like they were standing right beside me.

I nodded. I could do this. One more inning.

Then came the first crack of thunder, close enough that I felt it in my teeth.

"Everyone inside NOW!" Coach's whistle pierced through the suddenly heavy air.

We scrambled toward the dugout as lightning split the sky—this brilliant, jagged spiderweb of purple-white that made everything look like a negative photograph for half a second. Rain started coming down in sheets, that warm summer rain that feels like someone turned a fire hose on you.

Jordan sprinted toward the shelter of the concession stand, hair plastering to their face. I don't know what came over me—maybe the static electricity, maybe the sheer absurdity of the moment, maybe just being fifteen and having terrible judgment—but I grabbed my water bottle from the bench and sprinted after them.

"You're gonna get struck by lightning!" Jordan laughed as I skidded to a stop under the narrow overhang.

"Worth it," I said, and I meant it.

We stood there while the storm tore through the parking lot, baseball field turning into a lake, both of us dripping wet, sharing my lukewarm water and watching the light show like it was the most important thing in the world. For twenty minutes, nobody expected me to be anyone but me. Not my brother's shadow. Not the kid who couldn't hit. Just Marcus.

"You know," Jordan said, wiping rain from their eyes, "you're actually kinda cool when you're not trying so hard."

I pulled off my soaked hat and shook out my hair. "Yeah? I think I'm finally figuring that out."