Swing and a Miss

Marcus stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his reflection staring back like it was judging his entire existence. The haircut was supposed to be a fade, but his cousin Ty had messed it up—now his **hair** looked like someone had taken a weed whacker to his head and given up halfway through.

"You look fine, Marcus," his sister called from the hallway. "Stop being dramatic."

Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one starting at Westwood High tomorrow where everyone already had their friend groups locked in like fortresses. Marcus shoved a neon orange **vitamin** gummy into his mouth—his mom's solution to every problem, from his constantly chapped lips to his apparently insufficient immune system.

His cat, Luna, wound around his ankles, purring like she'd personally engineered this moment of maximum chaos. Marcus scooped her up, burying his face in her soft fur. At least the cat didn't care about his hair. Or his braces. Or the fact that he'd managed to go through fourteen years of life without acquiring a single cool skill.

"Marcus! Joey's here!"

Outside, Joey was waiting with his **baseball** glove on his hand like it was permanent. "Bro, you ready? Tryouts are next week and your swing still looks like you're fighting off bees."

Marcus grabbed his bat, the aluminum cool against his palms. In the backyard, Joey pitched fast and messy, each ball thudding into the fence. Marcus missed three in a row, his frustration building like static in his chest. Then—crack. The ball sailed over the fence, disappearing into the neighbor's yard.

"Finally!" Joey whooped. "See? You're not hopeless."

Marcus grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. The haircut was still a disaster, and he was still terrified of tomorrow, but he'd hit something. Sometimes that was enough.

"Dude," Joey said, examining his own hair in the reflection of Marcus's phone. "We should probably fix your hair before school. I know a guy."

"A guy?"

"My cousin cuts hair. He's actually good, unlike Ty. He'll hook us up."

Marcus nodded. Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so bad after all. He had the cat for emotional support, Joey for emergency hair interventions, and a swing that didn't completely suck anymore. That counted as winning, right?