The Bullpen Truth

Leo's **goldfish**, Admiral Bubbles, had chosen the absolute worst time to shuffle off this mortal coil. Right before the biggest lunch period of sophomore year, when Maya was finally sitting at his table. His mom had made him pack the Ziploc bag with the deceased fish because 'we can't just flush him without saying goodbye.' So now Leo had a dead fish in his backpack, sitting across from his crush, trying to look chill.

'You okay?' Maya asked, forehead crinkled. 'You look like you're gonna hurl.'

'Just thinking about **baseball** tryouts tomorrow,' Leo lied, because explaining the dead fish situation was approximately 47% more pathetic than admitting he was nervous. His buddy Marcus shot him a look from across the cafeteria—that telepathic bro-communication that said, 'that is such **bull** and you know it.'

Leo had been spinning stories all week. His batting average was 'improving' (it wasn't). He'd 'totally hit a homer off the varsity pitcher' (he'd fouled out). Now his social standing was a house of cards, and Admiral Bubbles in his backpack felt like the universe calling his bluff.

Maya's eyes dropped to his tray. 'You gonna eat that **spinach**?' She smiled, and Leo's heart did that terrifying flutter thing. 'My mom said Popeye stuff is basically magic.'

He started to say something smooth—something that would've been approximately 12% less awkward than reality—when he noticed it. A dark green piece of spinach wedged stubbornly in his braces. The exact same spinach he'd been chewing for twenty minutes while pretending his entire life wasn't constructed entirely of convenient half-truths.

'You got a little...' Maya gestured at her own teeth, grinning.

Leo's face burned. Everything spilled out then—the dead fish, his batting average, how he'd pretended to be someone he wasn't because he thought that's what she wanted. Marcus actually laughed out loud from three tables away.

'My dad's a coach,' Maya said, still smiling. 'I know what a real swing looks like.' She slid the spinach toward herself. 'Tryouts tomorrow, right? I'll be there.'

Admiral Bubbles would get his proper farewell that evening. But Leo's dignity? That might actually survive after all.