The Last Inning

Marcus slumped on the bleachers, the metal still warm from the afternoon sun. Beside him, Jenna scrolled through her iPhone, her face lit by that familiar blue glow even as the sky darkened overhead.

"Dude, are you even watching?" Marcus nudged her with his elbow.

Jenna didn't look up. "It's baseball, Marcus. They've been playing for two hours. No one has scored. I'm literally falling asleep here."

"That's the point!" Marcus protested. "It's about the tension. The strategy. The fact that anything could happen—"

A crack of thunder cut him off. The crowd gasped as lightning streaked across the sky, a jagged fork of electric white that temporarily blinded everyone. The umpire immediately shouted something Marcus couldn't hear, and players sprinted for the dugouts.

"Tension, right," Jenna said, finally pocketing her phone. "Because that just happened."

Rain began to fall—huge, warm drops that Marcus could smell before they hit. The scent of wet dirt and grass filled the air, mixing with the lingering aroma of orange soda from the concession stand. Everyone scrambled for cover, but Marcus and Jenna stayed put, sheltered by the overhang above the bleachers.

"This sucks," Marcus said, staring at the empty field. "It was the bottom of the ninth, too. We were so close."

Jenna turned to him, her expression softer than usual. "You know what sucks? That you care more about this game than the fact that I'm leaving for college in two months."

The words hit Marcus harder than the thunder. He looked at his best friend—really looked at her—and noticed things he'd been too busy to see. The way she'd started wearing makeup more often. The college sweatshirt she'd bought last week. The way she kept checking her phone, probably texting people she'd met at orientation.

"I didn't think you'd care if I watched baseball," Marcus said quietly.

"I don't care about the baseball," Jenna said, and her voice cracked just a little. "I care that we're running out of time to do stupid things together before everything changes."

The rain intensified, drumming against the metal roof above them. Marcus's orange hoodie grew damp at the edges where the wind blew rain underneath. He thought about all the moments he'd taken for granted—all the baseball games, all the boring afternoons, all the times he'd assumed Jenna would just always be there.

"Hey," he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "After this, want to go get ice cream? My treat."

Jenna smiled, and Marcus could see the tears she was pretending weren't there. "Only if you promise not to talk about baseball strategies the whole time."

"Deal," he said.

As the storm raged around them, clearing the stadium and ending the game that no one would ever finish, Marcus realized something important: some innings are more important than others, and the ones that matter most have nothing to do with scoreboards.