The Cat Who Knew Everything

Marcus sat on the baseball bench, cleats dangling, watching dust motes dance in the afternoon sun. Another practice, another season of being the kid who couldn't hit the ball if his life depended on it.

"Bench warmer for life," he muttered, earning a sympathetic look from his older brother Tyrell, who was actually good at this stuff.

When practice finally ended, Marcus reached into his bag and froze. An iPhone glinted up at him — not his cracked iPhone 8, but a sleek, expensive iPhone 15 Pro that definitely belonged to someone else. Jordan's phone. Jordan, the captain. Jordan, who'd barely spoken two words to Marcus all year.

His thumb hovered over the screen. A notification popped up: *Mom: We need to talk about Dad again.*

Marcus's stomach did that thing it always did when his parents mentioned college money. He shouldn't look. He really shouldn't.

But he did.

He became a spy by accident, really. Just checking if Jordan had any other notifications, maybe a location tracker so he could return it. That was the lie he told himself. But suddenly he was scrolling through texts that made Jordan seem less like a baseball god and more like, well, a person. A person whose dad had lost his job. A person who was secretly taking AP Art instead of the Advanced Baseball camp everyone assumed.

Marcus walked home with Jordan's phone burning a hole in his pocket, his cat Mochi waiting on the porch like she always did. Mochi, who purred loudly when Marcus was anxious and knocked over his water glass when he was lying to himself.

He stared at the phone. Mochi stared at him.

"I'm just trying to do the right thing," he told the cat.

Mochi meowed, unimpressed.

Marcus's fingers moved before his brain could catch up. He texted Jordan's mom back from Jordan's phone: *Sorry, this is Marcus from the team. Jordan left his phone at practice. I'll bring it tomorrow.*

Then he opened his notes app and typed: *Your secret's safe with me. Also, your art portfolio is actually fire.*

He deleted it three times before finally leaving it.

The next day, Jordan found him before first period. For a second, Marcus thought he'd be angry. Instead, Jordan's shoulders dropped like he'd been carrying something heavy for way too long.

"Thanks," Jordan said quietly. "For not looking too much."

"I looked enough," Marcus admitted. "But hey, if you ever need someone to terrible at baseball with, I'm your guy."

Jordan laughed, and it sounded real.

That night, Mochi curled up on Marcus's chest, purring like a tiny engine. His iPhone buzzed: a message from Jordan. *Baseball sucks anyway. Want to work on art portfolio stuff instead?*

Marcus smiled, and for the first time, the baseball bench didn't feel like such a bad place to be.