The Fox at Home Plate

Marcus's baseball cap sat pulled low over his eyes, a fortress against the world. Varsity jacket guys were laughing by the bleachers, their caps pristine, their posture screaming we own this place. Marcus adjusted his beat-up Dodgers hat — fourthhand, frayed at the brim, smelling faintly of his uncle's garage — and tried to look like he belonged anywhere near this field.

"Yo, Marcus! You gonna stand there all day or actually play?"

Javy's voice cut through. Marcus's stomach did that thing where it tried to exit his body through his throat. This was it. First day on the actual team. Sort of. JV-B, but whatever. He'd spent three weeks psyching himself up for this moment, practicing his swing in his bedroom mirror until his neighbor's dog started barking at him through the wall.

"Coming," he managed, not meeting anyone's eyes as he grabbed a bat.

Then he saw her.

Fox. Not her actual name — Riley Fox, obviously, but nobody called her Riley. She sat cross-legged on the hood of a parked car, headphones in, completely unbothered by the teenage social ecosystem unfolding around her. Her hair was that perfect kind of messy that probably took actual effort. Marcus had had a crush on Fox since seventh period English, when she'd argued with Mr. Henderson about symbolism and won.

He stepped up to the plate.

The pitch came. Fast.

He swung.

*THWACK.*

The ball sailed into the gap. Marcus stood there for a half-second, genuinely confused, before Javy yelled "RUN, YOU IDIOT" and his legs remembered what they were supposed to do. He made it to second, chest heaving, grinning like an idiot.

When he looked up, Fox was watching him. One side of her mouth curved up. She pulled her headphones down.

"Nice form, Dodgers," she called.

His hat. She noticed his hat.

Marcus's face did something extremely uncool. "Thanks!"

"See you in English," Fox said, already putting her headphones back on.

He stood on second base, heart hammering a completely different rhythm now, and thought maybe — just maybe — this year might be his after all.