The Bear in Court

Marcus hates how good Jordan looks in a polo.

Not that he'd ever say that out loud. Instead he just nods at Jordan's bag as they walk toward the bike rack. "You playing padel this weekend?"

"Tournament at the club," Jordan says, already distracted by something across the parking lot. "My dad's been on my case about practice. You know how it is."

Yeah. Marcus knows how it is. He also knows his dad has been asking him to help with cable installations every Saturday since school ended, because "it's good money, Marc, and college isn't gonna pay for itself."

Whatever. It's not like Marcus is good enough for tournaments anyway. He's barely decent.

"Nice bear," someone calls out as Marcus shoulders his backpack.

Oh.

His face burns. The stuffed bear's ear is poking out of his front pocket where it fell when he grabbed his bag this morning - Mom must have moved it from his nightstand during cleaning. He stuffes it back down, but the damage is done.

"You still sleep with that?" Jordan's not even being mean, just - curious. Which is somehow worse.

"My little cousin left it," Marcus lies smoothly. "I was returning it."

"Right." Jordan's already turning away. "See you at the tournament though, yeah? You should come watch."

##

The van smells like coffee and copper. Dad's got the radio up - some old station that plays songs Marcus can't believe anyone actually liked.

"You're quiet," Dad says, negotiating a turn onto a winding residential street.

"Tired." Marcus stares out the window at houses that keep getting bigger the further they drive. "Long week."

"That Jordan kid still giving you grief about not joining the club?"

"He doesn't - it's not grief, Dad. It's just - they're all really good. And it's expensive and I don't want to -"

"Hey." Dad glances over. "You're allowed to be good at something even if you're not the best at it. That's the whole point of doing things, you know?"

Marcus watches the street numbers tick up. They're approaching the ritzy part of town now - the kind of houses where people pay Dad's company to run cable through walls they don't even touch.

"You ever feel like," Marcus starts, then stops.

"Like what?"

"Like you're carrying around all this stuff you're supposed to have outgrown by now?" It sounds stupid as soon as he says it. "Cable knots, old bears, expectations."

Dad's quiet for a moment. Then he pulls into a driveway - the biggest house they've serviced all month.

"You know what I did with my old bear?" Dad asks, killing the engine. "I gave it to my little brother when I was twelve. He loved that thing. But sometimes, on really bad days, I'd sneak into his room and just - hold it for a minute. Until I felt like I could breathe again."

Marcus feels his throat go tight.

"You think that makes me weak?" Dad asks, but he's smiling a little.

"No," Marcus says. "I think it makes you - " He doesn't know how to finish.

"Human," Dad says. "Yeah. Me too."

##

The cable installation takes longer than expected. The home office is a disaster - three monitors, a tangle of cords everywhere, equipment Marcus doesn't even recognize. But he's good at this. Has been since he started helping Dad in middle school.

His fingers find patterns in the mess. Unwind, reroute, secure. There's something satisfying about it - taking chaos and making it orderly. Making sense where there wasn't any before.

"You're really good at that," someone says from the doorway.

Marcus jumps. It's a kid his age, maybe a sophomore, leaning against the frame with a padel racket tucked under one arm.

"Oh - thanks. It's pretty straightforward once you - "

"You play?" The kid nods at Marcus's backpack, where his own racket is tucked away.

"A little. I'm not - I mean, I just started."

"We've got a club membership that's going to waste," the kid says. "My sister used to play, but she's at college now. We're always looking for people to hit with."

Marcus feels something in his chest shift. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm Tyler, by the way."

"Marcus."

"You want to hit sometime?" Tyler's already pulling out his phone. "I mean, if you're not too busy with - " He gestures at the half-finished cable setup.

Marcus laughs, and it feels real. "Saturday mornings are usually free. Except for helping my dad. But maybe sometimes."

##

The bear is back on his nightstand that night. Marcus considers putting it in a drawer, but -

Instead he sets it so it's facing his desk, where his padel racket is leaning against the wall. Saturday, he thinks. Saturday morning.

He pulls out his phone.

"Hey," he types to Jordan. "Think I could come by the club sometime? Maybe hit a few?"

Jordan's response is immediate. "Finally. About time. Saturday at ten?"

Marcus grins at the screen. "Saturday at ten."

The bear's glass eye seems to gleam a little in the lamp light. Not bad, it seems to say. Not bad at all.

"Yeah," Marcus whispers back. "Not bad."