The Fish Behind Center Field

Marcus's iphone buzzed in his pocket at exactly 7:43 AM — the group chat going off about something that definitely wasn't schoolwork. He swiped it open while walking toward third period, nearly colliding with Sarah Jenkins, who was actually looking up from her phone for once.

"Watch where you're going, baseball boy," she said, but she was smiling. Marcus felt that weird flutter in his chest, the one he'd been trying to ignore since tryouts last month. The team called him 'Bear' because of that one time he'd roared at a referee call, but around Sarah? He was about as ferocious as a confused penguin.

At lunch, the cafeteria was serving something suspiciously orange and vegetable-like, so Marcus grabbed a seat by the window. His goldfish, now residing in a beat-up bowl on his nightstand back home, had better meals than this. He'd named it Rookie, which felt appropriate given that Marcus himself was riding the pine most games this season.

"You coming to the party tonight?" Jason asked, dropping into the seat across from him. "Lindsey's parents are out of town. Again."

Marcus shrugged. His parents were weird about parties. Something about 'responsibility' and 'curfews' and actual sentences that nobody else's parents seemed to use.

"Dude, you're missing out. Everyone's gonna be there."

Everyone except the guy stuck feeding a fish that probably forgot he existed every three seconds.

"Maybe," Marcus said. "If I can get out of baseball practice early."

Lie. Practice ended at 5, same as always. Coach Bennett had been working them harder since last week's loss, making them run until their legs felt like jelly and their throats burned. But Marcus needed something to believe in, even if it was just the possibility that tonight might be different.

That evening, standing outside Lindsey's house with a beat-up glove tucked under his arm like a security blanket, Marcus watched through the window as Sarah laughed at something Jason said. The orange glow of sunset painted everything golden and perfect and completely unfair.

His phone buzzed again. A text from his mom: 'Rookie looks lonely.' And then, two seconds later: 'So do you. Come home if you want to.'

Marcus stood there for another minute, watching Sarah toss her hair back, watching Jason lean in like he owned every room he entered. Then he turned around and started walking.

Some nights aren't for winning. Some nights are for going home to a fish that genuinely thinks you're the coolest person in the world, just for showing up with the little container of flakes.

The bear would have to wait. Tonight, Marcus was just the guy who fed a goldfish.