Sunday's Vitamin
Marcus moved to Oak Creek three weeks into sophomore year feeling like a **zombie**—stumbling through hallways that already had their ghosts, their hierarchies, their unspoken rules carved into the bathroom stalls.
His **dog** Barnaby was the only thing that made sense. A rescue with one floppy ear and a heart that overflowed, Barnaby would greet Marcus after every disastrous school day like he'd returned from war. Which, honestly, some days felt true enough.
"You gotta try out for the team," Jordan said at lunch on Friday, nodding toward the varsity table where Tyler **bull**-Hamilton held court. Tyler had gotten his nickname from bulldozing through defenders on the field, but Marcus suspected it was also his personality. "Coach needs a linebacker. You've got the build."
Marcus had nodded, mumbling something about maybe. But the truth was, he'd spent the last month trying to shrink himself—slouching at his desk, bagging his hoodies, becoming invisible.
That Sunday, his mom found him in the garage staring at the box of unpacked moving boxes.
"What's in here?" she asked, tapping a carton marked MARCUS'S ROOM.
"Nothing," he said, but something made him open it. Inside: his guitar, a collection of rock band tees, and a jar of gummy **vitamin** D supplements his grandma had sent with a note: *For growing strong bones and stronger spirit.*
He'd stopped taking them when the moving boxes got taped up. Stopped wearing the tees. Stopped playing.
His phone buzzed. Jordan: *Tyler's hosting a thing tonight. No pressure. But...?*
Marcus looked at Barnaby, who was currently doing that thing where he got the zoomies and sprinted in circles for no reason. Just because it felt good. Just because he could.
Monday morning, Marcus walked into the cafeteria wearing a faded Rolling Stones shirt. He sat with Jordan. He told them he'd be at tryouts.
Tyler **bull**-Hamilton looked over, raised an eyebrow. Something like respect flickered across his face.
Marcus didn't feel like a zombie anymore. He felt like someone who was maybe, finally, starting to grow into his own skin.