The Goldfish Philosophy

Marcus stood at the plate, baseball bat trembling in his hands like it might suddenly decide to fly away. The entire freshman class was watching, and somewhere in the bleachers, Riley was definitely not watching him fail.

"You got this, M-money!" yelled Jordan from the dugout, using that ridiculous nickname Marcus had never asked for. "Smash it like you mean it!"

The pitch came — high and outside. Marcus swung anyway, missing by approximately three miles. The sound of metal cutting through air echoed across the field. Someone in the crowd giggled. His face burned hotter than a pizza fresh out of the oven.

"Dude," Jordan whispered later, slapping his shoulder. "You were swinging at imaginary flies out there. What's going on? You usually crush at batting practice."

Marcus didn't answer. How could he explain that his mind had been elsewhere? Specifically, on Riley's goldfish. The one she'd brought to school in a plastic bag, the one he'd accidentally knocked over while trying to impress her with some smooth maneuver that wasn't smooth at all.

"It's fine," she'd said, watching the fish flop on the classroom floor. "He was probably going to die anyway. His name was Captain."

Captain. The goldfish with a superhero name who'd met his demise because Marcus wanted Riley to think he was cool. Now every time he closed his eyes, he saw that fish staring at him with judgment.

After practice, Marcus walked home with his dog Buster, a golden retriever who'd apparently decided that today was the day he would become a barking machine. Everything set him off — squirrels, wind, nothing. Nothing at all. Just random barking at the sky.

"Who's a boy?" Marcus said, trying to distract him. "You want a treat? You want to stop yelling at clouds?"

Buster paused, then barked directly into a neighbor's mailbox.

When Marcus finally got home, his dad was in the garage, wearing that old shirt with the bear on it. The team mascot from his college days.

"Rough game?" his dad asked, not looking up from whatever he was fixing.

"I guess."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Marcus hesitated. He wanted to. He wanted to say that he felt like everyone else had life figured out — baseball, friendships, how to talk to girls without destroying their pets — while he was just improvising and failing constantly.

"Nah. I'm good."

His dad nodded, like he understood. "You know, bears hibernate all winter. They don't do anything but sleep and survive. Then spring comes, and they're out there living again. Sometimes you gotta hibernate before you can really show up."

Marcus thought about bears and baseball and goldfish named Captain. He thought about Riley and the way she'd laughed when he'd apologized about the fish, like she actually thought it was funny instead of terrible.

"Maybe," Marcus said. "Can we practice hitting this weekend?"

His dad smiled. "Absolutely. But first, help me with this stupid shelf. It's fighting back."

Buster barked at nothing. The sun set. Maybe tomorrow, Marcus would finally get it right. Maybe he'd even talk to Riley again. And maybe Captain the goldfish was somewhere in fish heaven, forgiving him for being so dramatically awkward.

Some days you strike out. Some days you knock over pets. And some days, you just hibernate until you're ready to be brave.