Strikeout in the Storm

Marcus stood at the plate, the baseball bat feeling like a lead pipe in his sweating hands. The orange sunset painted the sky behind the pitcher, Tyler—who also happened to be the guy Marcus had been crushing on since freshman year. No pressure, just his entire social dignity on the line in this pickup game.

"You gonna swing sometime today, or just admire the view?" Tyler called, that annoying perfect grin plastered on his face. Someone nearby snorted, and Marcus felt his face heating up.

Then came the first drop. Water splatted against his cheek, then another. Within seconds, the sky opened up—like, genuinely opened up. The pickup game scattered, everyone grabbing their gear and sprinting for cover.

Marcus stood frozen for a second, watching Tyler grab his gear and jog toward the covered dugout. His orange hoodie was already soaked through, clinging to—focus, Marcus, focus.

A crack of thunder shook the ground. Lightning flashed across the sky, painting everything white for a heartbeat. That's when he saw it—Tyler standing near the dugout, not running anymore, just watching Marcus with this weird expression.

"You coming?" Tyler yelled over the rain, which was now falling in sheets.

Marcus jogged over, his sneakers squelching with every step. They huddled under the dugout roof, shoulder to shoulder, both dripping wet. The air smelled like rain and that metallic ozone scent that comes after lightning strikes.

"So," Tyler said, bumping his shoulder. "You were totally gonna crush that ball. I could tell."

Marcus laughed. "Yeah, totally. I was calculating my trajectory."

"Mhm." Tyler's hand brushed against his, lingering. "Hey, my phone's dead from the humidity. Want to walk to my place? It's closer, and my mom's got those Sports Goldfish you like."

Marcus's heart did that thing where it forgot how to function properly. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds—yeah."

They ran through the rain, splashing through every puddle like they were twelve again, lightning flashing overhead every few seconds like paparazzi capturing something that was actually worth photographizing for once.

Marcus didn't care that he'd struck out. Sometimes the real game happens after everyone else has already left the field.