The Lightning-Brained Summer

Marcus stared at the orange bottle on his kitchen counter. Another morning of choking down these chewy **vitamin** C tablets his mom swore would keep him from getting mono like his cousin. Senior year was supposed to be about freedom, not dietary supplements.

"You coming to the game?" His best **friend** since fourth grade, Jen, leaned against the doorframe, already wearing her varsity jacket. "Coach said if you skip one more practice, you're off the team."

Marcus sighed. **Baseball** had been Jen's thing since they were kids. He'd only joined because she'd made it sound like they'd be teammates forever, but now she was the star pitcher and he was warming the bench.

"Yeah, I'll be there."

His phone buzzed. A text from Skylar, the girl in his art class: u alive? u haven't posted in 3 days.

Marcus smiled. Skylar didn't care about sports or popularity or whatever fake currency their high school ran on. They'd spent last week at her house, making fun of reality TV while her prize-winning **goldfish** nosed against the glass of its tank like it was judging them.

Outside, thunder cracked. The sky turned that weird purple-green color that meant trouble.

"**Lightning** storm's rolling in," Jen said, checking her weather app. "Practice might get canceled."

"Maybe that's a sign," Marcus muttered, then immediately felt guilty. Jen lived for this stuff.

The walk to the field was humid, the air thick with that before-rain feeling. Marcus's phone buzzed again. Skylar: museum has glitch art exhibit. weekend?

Jen was already at the dugout, laughing with the guys Marcus pretended to bond with. He stood at the edge, feeling like he was watching everything through a fogged window.

Then it hit him—literally. A thought, not weather. What if he stopped faking it? What if he told Jen he'd rather go to that art exhibit with Skylar than spend another afternoon pretending baseball mattered to him?

"Hey Jen?" His voice came out smaller than he wanted.

She turned, still smiling. "Yeah?"

"I think I'm done with baseball."

The smile dropped. "What?"

"Like, actually done. I'm only here because you wanted me to join, but—"

"Marcus, you're literally terrible at it anyway." She grinned. "I've been waiting for you to quit since freshman year. Why do you think I never put you in?"

He blinked. Then they were both laughing while the first raindrops scattered against the infield dirt.

His phone buzzed again. Skylar: still on for museum?

Marcus typed back with actual certainty for the first time in months: absolutely.

Some things were worth choking down vitamins for. Some weren't. He was starting to figure out the difference.