The Orange Jersey Incident

Marcus stood in front of the bathroom mirror for the seventh time that morning, staring at the hideous orange monstrosity his mom had bought him for his first varsity baseball practice. Bro, it was bright. Like, traffic cone bright. He could practically hear the guys' jokes before they even happened.

"You gonna wear that to prison?" his little sister had asked that morning.

Marcus groaned and threw on his black hoodie over it. Whatever. He'd deal with the fashion disaster later. Right now, he had bigger problems – like the fact that he'd somehow made the JV team as a sophomore despite having roughly zero athletic ability. His baseball experience consisted of watching The Sandlot too many times and that one time his dad took him to a Dodgers game when he was eight.

The locker room smelled like AX body spray and insecurity. Marcus found an empty bench and started changing, trying to be subtle about it. The orange jersey felt like it was glowing.

"Nice highlighter, rookie," someone called out.

Great. So much for blending in.

Practice was basically organized chaos. Coach Miller kept shouting things Marcus didn't understand. "Keep your eye on the ball!" "Get your glove down!" Marcus spent most of it jogging after balls he'd completely missed, his face burning hotter than his ridiculous jersey.

Afterward, a few guys invited him to grab food at The Burger Shack. This was it – his chance to finally fit in. Marcus ordered their signature burger with everything on it, trying to play it cool.

"So," said Tyler, the team's actual star shortstop, "what position do you play?"

"Uh, outfield? Maybe?" Marcus managed around a massive bite of his burger. "Coach said he'd figure it out."

Everyone laughed. Okay, good. They were laughing with him, not at him. He was nailing this social thing.

They spent the next hour talking about girls, complaining about teachers, and debating whether tacos or pizza were superior. Marcus felt himself relaxing, actually having fun. He belonged here.

Then he caught his reflection in the darkened window as they were leaving.

Huge, green chunk of spinach wedged firmly between his front teeth. From the burger's arugula. He'd been talking to everyone for like an hour looking like he'd been eating salad for breakfast.

"Hey Marcus," Tyler called. "You good?"

Marcus paused. He could play it off and be embarrassed forever, or he could own it.

"Dude," he said, pointing at his teeth. "I've had spinach in my teeth for like an hour. Please tell me someone was gonna tell me."

The whole table cracked up.

"Nah, we were just waiting to see how long you'd go," someone said.

"That's messed up," Marcus laughed, heading to the bathroom. "But honestly? Same."

When he came back, Tyler tossed him a baseball. "You're all right, man. Same time tomorrow?"

Marcus caught it, grinning. Yeah, maybe the orange jersey wasn't so bad after all.