Summer Fracture

The cable was out again. Third time this week, and of course it had to happen during the playoffs. I slumped on the couch, my phone blowing up with texts from the group chat. They were all at Jake's house, watching the game together. Without me again.

"You coming, bro?" Marcus had texted an hour ago. I'd stared at it, thumbs hovering, then shoved my phone in my pocket. Too much anxiety in that direction. Jake's cousin Sarah would be there, and every time she looked at me with those eyes that seemed to see right through my carefully constructed cool guy facade, I forgot how to speak human.

My mom's golden retriever, Buster, nudged my hand with his wet nose. He was probably hungry or wanted to play catch, like we used to when I was a kid and summer meant something different. Before everything got complicated.

I stood up and grabbed my baseball glove from the corner. The leather was worn soft from years of use, the pocket shaped perfectly to my hand. Outside, the heat hit me like a physical thing. July in suburban Atlanta meant sweating through your shirt by noon and mosquito hunts at dusk.

The park near our subdivision had a diamond that nobody used during the day. I stood at home plate, tossing a ball up and swinging, connecting sometimes, missing others. The sound of the bat cracking against the ball was satisfying in a way nothing else had been lately.

"You've got a weird swing," said a voice behind me.

I jumped. Sarah stood there, wearing an orange tank top that made her look like summer personified. Her hair was damp, like she'd just been swimming. The community pool was just beyond the trees, water glittering through the leaves.

"Just... practicing," I managed. No stuttering. Progress.

"Mind if I join?" She held up her own glove. "I played softball before I moved here."

We played catch for an hour. The conversation started awkward but found its rhythm. She complained about her stepdad's obsession with football. I told her about how I wanted to try out for the team but kept psyching myself out.

"You're overthinking it," she said, firing a perfect strike into my glove. "Sometimes you just gotta swing and see what happens."

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Probably the group chat again. Probably something awesome I was missing. But I didn't check. I just threw the ball back.

"Wanna get some water?" I asked. "There's a fountain by the pool."

She grinned. "Only if you promise not to make fun of my terrible batting form."

"Deal."

As we walked toward the pool, I realized some things—like anxiety and missing out—are mostly in your head. And sometimes the cable going out is exactly what you need.

Buster was waiting by the back door when I got home, like he knew. I scratched his ears and finally checked my phone. Twenty-seven missed messages from the group chat.

"Dude where r u???"

"You missed it!!!"

"Sarah said she was going to the park. Did you see her??"

I smiled and typed back: "Yeah. I think I'm gonna start spending more time there."