Sweaty Palms and Curveballs
Marcus's palms were sweating through his batting gloves. Again.
"You good, bro?" Jay asked, tossing him a water bottle. "You look like you're about to puke."
"I'm fine," Marcus lied, wiping his hands on his uniform pants. The baseball sat on the tee, mocking him.
Coach Miller had been making them take these weird vitamin supplements all week, claiming they'd give the team "competitive energy." Marcus suspected it was just placebo, but he'd down the chalky pink tablets anyway if it meant making varsity.
"She's watching again," Jay whispered.
Marcus didn't need to look. He could feel Maya's gaze from the bleachers. She always sat in the same spot—third row, middle, wearing those oversized hoodies that made her look like she'd rather be anywhere but here.
Last week at lunch, she'd read his palm. Some nonsense about his "life line" being short, which was definitely not flirting material. But she'd touched his hand, and his brain had short-circuited.
"Marcus! You're up!" Coach hollered.
He stepped to the plate. The vitamin tablet sat like a rock in his stomach. Maya was definitely watching. Jay was definitely judging.
The pitcher wound up and delivered. A fastball, high and outside.
Marcus swung anyway.
*CRACK.*
The ball sailed toward right field, then kept going, clearing the fence by three feet. A home run. His first ever.
The team rushed the plate. Someone dumped water over his head. Through the chaos, he spotted Maya in the bleachers, actually smiling. Not like, "I'm humoring you" smiling. Real, genuine smiling.
After the game, he found her leaning against the concession stand.
"Nice hit," she said, all casual. "Want me to read your palm again? See if your baseball line got longer?"
Marcus laughed, his palms still sweating, but for once, he didn't mind. "Maybe next time."
"Next time," she agreed. "Same place tomorrow?"
"Definitely."
As she walked away, Marcus realized the vitamins might've been garbage, but sometimes, you just need a little luck. And maybe some sweaty palms.