The Fox at the Plate

Marcus's golden retriever, Buster, had zero chill. Which was exactly why Marcus was currently sprinting down the street at 7 PM, chasing his dog who'd decided that today was the day he'd become an outlaw.

"Buster! Come back, you little—" Marcus caught himself, glad his mom wasn't within earshot.

The dog was headed straight toward the baseball diamond where Skylar—aka the actual fox of Marcus's sophomore class—was at bat. Skylar, with their messy dark hair and that way of smiling like they knew something nobody else did. The person Marcus had been low-key obsessed with since September, when they'd been paired up for that bio project and Skylar had drawn little comics in the margins of their lab reports.

Buster bolted onto the field just as Skylar swung. The ball sailed into left field while Buster proceeded to do zoomies around home plate, barking joyfully at absolutely nothing.

"Oh my GOD," someone groaned. "That dog ruins everything."

But Skylar was laughing. Actually laughing, head tilted back, showing those slightly crooked teeth that Marcus thought about way more than was probably healthy. They jogged over to where Marcus had finally caught up to Buster—whose tail was now wagging like he'd just won the World Series.

"Is this your dog?" Skylar asked, eyes bright with amusement. "Because honestly? He's got better energy than half our team."

Marcus's brain short-circuited. "I—yeah. Sorry. He's usually not this dramatic."

"Don't apologize." Skylar scratched Buster behind the ears, and the traitor dog immediately leaned into their touch like Marcus wasn't even there. "I think he was trying to tell me I was swinging too hard. My mom's always saying I overthink everything."

"You were ... actually pretty good," Marcus managed, heart doing something weird and fluttery.

"Flatterer." Skylar grinned. "Hey, you should come to our next game. Friday at five. Bring the dog—he's clearly my new lucky charm."

As Marcus walked home, Buster trotting beside him like he hadn't just caused maximum embarrassment, Marcus realized something. Sometimes the worst moments—the ones that made you want to literally dissolve into the earth—turned into exactly what you needed. And maybe, just maybe, Buster wasn't just chaos incarnate.

Maybe he was the best wingman a guy could ask for.