The Kid Who Couldn't Swing

Marcus's dad kept saying he'd be varsity baseball material by sophomore year. That's like, the biggest lie ever told. Marcus couldn't hit a beach ball with a tennis racket, let alone a fastball with a Louisville Slugger.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, he dragged himself to the field, cleats clicking like nervous hearts against the pavement. Coach barked orders about "staying focused" and "keeping your eye on the ball," but Marcus's eyes were always somewhere else—usually on his phone, checking if she'd texted back.

She hadn't. Three days.

The real highlight of his week wasn't baseball practice. It was the stray cat behind the old Radio Shack. Orange tabby, one ear notched from who knows what. Marcus called him Tiger because basic was better than nothing.

"You gonna come through today?" Marcus whispered, crouching beside the dumpster with a stolen slice of pepperoni from lunch. Tiger rubbed against his jeans, purring like a tiny engine. This was the only thing that felt real anymore.

His home setup was tragic. Dad refused to pay for decent internet, so Marcus had rigged this janky cable connection from the neighbor's setup through his bedroom window. Twelve feet of black coaxial cable dangling like a lifeline, carrying pirated WiFi and stolen moments of TikTok fame he'd never achieve.

Tonight, something shifted.

He'd just finished feeding Tiger when his phone buzzed. Her name lit up his screen like a blessing.

"Hey."

Two letters. Marcus almost dropped his phone into the alley muck.

"Hey," he typed back, hands suddenly sweat-drenched. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just saw your post about that cat. Cute."

Marcus froze. She'd seen his Story? The one where he'd posted a grainy pic of Tiger looking judgmental about existence? The post he'd uploaded at 2 AM through his sketchy cable connection, expecting zero engagement?

"Thanks," he wrote. "He's kinda my best friend ngl."

"Lame but also kinda sweet," she replied. Then, the three dots that changed everything. "Wanna hang tomorrow?"

Marcus sat on the dirty pavement, Tiger curling into his lap. The baseball field felt a million miles away. His dad's expectations dissolved into the alleyway shadows.

For once, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"Yeah," he typed. "Pick me up at 5?"

"Bet."

The cable outside his window could wait. The baseball glove could rot. Marcus scratched Tiger behind the ears and finally felt like he belonged somewhere.