The Fox Behind Home Plate

Marcus leaned against the chain-link fence, baseball cap pulled low. Varsity tryouts tomorrow, and his stomach was doing backflips. He'd spent all summer practicing his swing, but somehow it never felt like enough.

"You're not seriously eating that, are you?"

He looked up. Chloe, the girl from his English class, stood there holding a Gatorade. Marcus felt his face heat up. He was sitting on the bench, alone, eating spinach leaves from a plastic container. His mom was obsessed with "anti-inflammatory foods" for his "athletic performance."

"It's... good for recovery?" Lame excuse. He knew it was lame.

Chloe didn't laugh, though. She sat next to him. "My dad makes me drink this green sludge every morning. I think it has spinach in it. Or possibly lawn clippings."

Marcus snorted. "That's what this tastes like."

"So." She nodded toward the field. "Big day tomorrow?"

"Yeah." He stared at his sneakers. "If I don't make varsity, my dad's gonna lose it."

"You nervous?"

"Terrified."

They sat in silence for a minute. Then something moved in the tall grass beyond the outfield fence. A rust-orange flash.

"Is that—" Marcus pointed.

A fox trotted into view, bold as anything. It had something green in its mouth. It paused, looked right at them with intelligent amber eyes, then continued to a shallow depression near the fence line where water collected after rain.

"No way," Chloe whispered.

The fox dropped its prize—a large, dripping bunch of spinach, probably from someone's garden—into the water and started eating.

Marcus stared. "That fox is eating spinach."

"Correction: that fox is washing its spinach like a refined gentleman."

They watched in disbelief as the fox actually dipped each leaf in the water before eating it.

"You know what?" Marcus said, feeling something shift in his chest. "If a fox can be out here living his best life, eating washed spinach like he's at a five-star restaurant... maybe I don't need to stress so much about tryouts."

Chloe grinned. "Exactly. That fox has zero social anxiety."

"Zero."

"So." She stood up, brushing grass from her shorts. "You gonna eat that?" She pointed at his container.

He handed it over. "Be my guest."

She took a handful, made a face, and ate it anyway. "You're coming to my game Friday, right? Soccer?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

The fox finished its meal, gave them a satisfied look, and slipped back into the grass.

Marcus stood up, suddenly lighter. Tomorrow would come. He'd swing. He'd miss some, he'd hit some. But he'd be okay.

"Hey Chloe?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For... you know."

She winked. "Anytime, Spinach Boy."