The Bullpen Bear

Marcus stood at the plate, baseball bat trembling in his hands. The Southside Bulls were winning 7-3, but that wasn't why his stomach did backflips. His dad—aka Captain Bullshit, according to Marcus's group chat—was screaming from the bleachers like his entire future depended on this at-bat.

"Come on, Marc! Make contact! Don't be a wimp!"

The varsity team needed a catcher. Marcus's dad had been drilling him since seventh grade, convinced his son would be the next big thing. But Marcus's heart belonged to the school's literary magazine and weird horror podcasts. The weight of expectations made him feel like he was about to bear the heaviest burden in existence.

"Hey." A voice from the bullpen caught him off guard. It was Luna, the weird girl who sat behind him in English and always wore oversized hoodies. "Your dad's being a total bull about this."

Marcus almost laughed. Almost. "That's the nicest way anyone's put it."

"You know what you should do?" Luna leaned against the chain-link fence. "Strike out on purpose. Make it so obvious nobody will ever ask you to play again."

The pitcher wound up and delivered. Marcus stood statue-still as the ball smacked into the catcher's mitt. Strike one.

"My dad would literally kill me," Marcus whispered back.

"My dad wanted me to do ballet," Luna said. "I told him I'd rather bear hug a cactus. Now he's barely speaking to me, but at least I'm not in a tutu."

Second pitch. Marcus closed his eyes. Strike two.

"What if I just... walk away?" he said, mostly to himself. "Like, right now. Just drop the bat and leave."

Luna grinned. "That would be legendary. The baseball team would never recover. The bullpen would bear witness to the greatest rebellion in school history."

The third pitch came. Marcus watched it sail past, didn't even pretend to swing. Strike three. Game over.

"MARCUS!" his dad's voice cracked across the field.

Marcus set the bat down gently and walked toward the bullpen gate. Luna was already there, holding it open.

"Wanna go get ice cream and roast your entire family lineage?" she asked.

"Honestly," Marcus said, stepping through the gate while his dad's face turned the shade of an overripe tomato, "that sounds better than baseball ever did."

The bullpen—or maybe the team bear mascot, who knew—watched them go. For the first time in three years, Marcus could breathe.