The Dugout Fortune Teller

Alex's palm was sweating through his batting gloves, which was honestly humiliating because Coach Miller was watching him like a hawk. Third baseball tryout in a week, and the pressure was absolutely wrecking him.

"Bennett, you're up," someone called, and Alex grabbed his favorite hat—the lucky one with the slightly bent brim that he refused to wash because that would totally jinx everything. He stepped to the plate, heart basically doing jumping jacks.

His iPhone buzzed in his back pocket. Probably Mia. She'd been texting him non-stop about the party on Friday, and Alex had been dodging because showing up without making the team would be the ultimate L.

*SWING AND A MISS.*

"You're thinking too hard," said Reese, the sophomore first baseman who'd somehow become his accidental best friend during tryouts. "Relax your shoulders. You're stiff as a board."

Reese was weirdly chill about everything, but she was also solid at the plate, so Alex listened.

"Let me see your hand," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"Your palm. I read palms, it's a whole thing. Trust me."

Alex hesitated, then pulled off his glove. Reese traced the lines on his palm with her finger, pretending to study them intensely.

"You're going to make the team," she announced. "But also, you need to reply to Mia. She's been waiting for you to make a move since February."

Alex stared at her. "That's not palm reading. That's just you being observant."

"Same energy. Now get up there and stop overthinking it."

He did. And when he connected with the pitch—solid contact, the kind that makes that perfect cracking sound—he wasn't thinking about his palms or his phone or the twenty people watching. He was just running, legs pumping, hat flying off somewhere behind him, rounding first base grinning like an idiot because Reese was right about both things.

Later, sitting in the dugout with the team list posted on his phone screen, he finally texted Mia: *Made the team. You going Friday?*

Her reply came instantly: *Took you long enough. Yes. 🙄*

Alex laughed and picked up his hat from the dugout floor. Baseball, friendships, girls—high school was complicated, but he was finally starting to figure out his swing in more ways than one.