Strikeout Season

Marcus stood at home plate, the baseball bat feeling like a lead pipe in his sweaty hands. The vitamin gummy he'd crushed earlier for supposed courage had done nothing but leave a weird aftertaste.

"You got this, bro!" yelled Ty from the dugout, his best friend since third grade, the one person who knew Marcus hated baseball but was too scared to tell his dad.

The pitch came. Marcus swung. Missed by three feet.

"Strike three!"

The walk back to the dugout felt like a funeral procession. His dad's face in the bleachers said everything: that careful, controlled expression that meant disappointment wrapped in understanding.

After the game, Ty found him behind the concession stand, sitting on a milk crate.

"Your dad's been talking about your baseball scholarship since preschool," Ty said, cracking open a soda. "But you literally just asked me what a 'bunt' was last week."

Marcus felt it then—the thing he'd been swallowing like those fake confidence vitamins. The truth.

"I hate baseball, man. I've always hated it."

Ty nodded. "Yeah. I know."

"You knew?"

"Bro, you play outfield and you bring a book to the games. You think nobody noticed?"

Marcus laughed. It felt real.

"So what do I tell my dad?"

"Tell him the truth?" Ty shrugged. "Or tell him you discovered your actual talent. Which is apparently writing poetry in a baseball dugout."

Marcus pulled the crumpled notebook from his back pocket.

Ty's eyes went wide. "You write? Let me see."

"No way."

"Come on. Show me one line. Just one. I showed you my first zit, you owe me."

Marcus sighed. Then smiled. "Fine. 'The sun sets like an orange slice against the bleachers, and somewhere someone's father finally stops watching.'"

Ty stared at him. "That's... actually fire. Like, actually good."

For the first time all season, Marcus didn't feel like a fake. He felt like someone who was just beginning to figure out who he actually was—someone who could maybe, eventually, tell his dad the truth.

"Hey," Ty said. "Next season, you can write about me. I'll be the famous friend who inspired a poet."

Marcus grinned. "Deal."