Summer of the Backyard Orange

The orange slice hit me right in the forehead. Like, actually hit me.

"Bro, you were supposed to catch that," Marcus laughed, scrambling over the chain-link fence like the worst thief in history. His golden retriever, Buster, barked joyfully from the other side, clearly in on the crime.

"Since when is catching fruit part of baseball practice?" I wiped sticky juice from my face. My dad had dragged me to the batting cages every Saturday since seventh grade, and somehow THIS was what my summer had come to. Marcus stealing oranges from Mrs. Henderson's tree because he was 'bored' and 'it's basically community service, her tree is OVERPRODUCING, Leo.'

The thing about Marcus is that he makes terrible decisions sound like revolutionary ideas. It's his superpower. That's why, despite being absolutely terrible at baseball, he'd somehow become my best friend freshman year. He just DECIDED we'd be friends, and suddenly we were.

"She won't notice," Marcus insisted, peeling another orange with methodical precision. "Anyway, did you hear about Taylor's party Friday? Everyone's going."

"Everyone who matters?"

"Everyone except you, if you keep being like this."

I groaned. Last year, I would've been hype for Taylor's parties. But something had shifted over the summer. Maybe it was the goldfish I'd won at the carnival dying in three days, which felt weirdly symbolic. Or my mom's cat, Mochi, suddenly deciding she hated me after six years of being basically obsessed. Or just realizing that everyone at school was performing their own lives instead of actually living them.

"You know what's wild?" I said suddenly. "My sister's goldfish lived for five years. FIVE YEARS. Just swimming in circles, eating flakes, being entirely chill about existing. Meanwhile I'm out here STRESSING about whether Taylor's party is gonna define my social standing for junior year."

Marcus paused mid-orange. "Okay, but did the goldfish have to worry about colleges? GPA? His parents' divorce? No. The goldfish had it EASY."

"Valid."

"Also, Taylor's gonna have those mini tacos from that place downtown. The really fuego ones."

"Why you gotta make everything about food?"

"Because I'm a GROWING BOY, Leo." He tossed me half an orange. "And you're coming to the party. I'll pick you up at eight. Wear that shirt that makes you look like you actually have shoulders."

Buster barked again, and Mrs. Henderson's cat appeared on her porch, staring at us with absolute judgment. The universe was clearly against us.

"We're so busted," I muttered.

"Nah," Marcus grinned, already scaling back over the fence. "We're building character. See you Friday, Leo."

The orange slice sat in my hand, impossibly bright against the suburban afternoon. I ate it, sticky and perfect, and realized I was actually going to that party. Sometimes the best decisions are the ones you don't actually make yourself.