The Cat Who Stole Strikeout King

Marcus was supposed to be at baseball practice. Coach Davis had been blowing up his phone since 3:15, and honestly? Marcus didn't care. Being the team's "star pitcher" felt like wearing someone else's skin — tight, uncomfortable, and totally not him.

Instead, he was at the abandoned quarry on the edge of town, where the water was shockingly blue and the only audience was a mangy orange cat that had been showing up for three weeks straight.

"You again," Marcus said, tossing a piece of his turkey sandwich. The cat — he'd secretly named it Slider — caught it mid-air with ridiculous grace. "Way better than my actual slider. That one's been getting hammered."

His phone buzzed again. *practice starts in 10 mins or don't bother showing up*

Marcus groaned and shoved the phone deep in his pocket. The water looked stupidly inviting. He'd come here to think, maybe skip practice, definitely not go swimming in his boxers at 4 PM on a Tuesday.

But Slider was already at the water's edge, tail flicking like it was challenging him.

"Fine," Marcus said. "But if I get caught, I'm blaming you."

He stripped down to his boxers and waded in. The cold hit him like a fastball to the ribs — shocking, waking, electric. He ducked under and let himself sink for a second, the silence underwater better than any pep talk he'd ever heard.

When he surfaced, Slider was sitting on a rock, looking almost smug.

"What?" Marcus laughed, treading water. "You think you're so cool?"

The cat meowed like, obviously.

That's when Marcus's brother drove past on the road above the quarry. Javier saw him. They locked eyes. Javier honked and kept driving, and Marcus's stomach dropped.

But then his phone buzzed. Javier: *mom doesn't know but you owe me. also? you look happier than you have in months.*

Marcus thought about it. The water, the cat that couldn't care less about strikeouts, the way his chest felt lighter than it had all season.

"Yeah," he said, and swam to shore. Slider didn't run. Just waited for the rest of that sandwich.

Marcus sent Coach a text: *not coming today. or maybe tomorrow. need to figure some stuff out.*

Then he sat dripping next to the cat, watching the water ripple, and finally felt like himself.