The Palm Reader's Knuckleball

Leo's palms were sweating so much his iPhone nearly slipped out of his hands. Again.

"You're up, kid," the baseball coach yelled, and Leo's stomach did that thing where it feels like it's trying to escape through your throat.

He wasn't even supposed to be here. His dad had signed him up for summer league without asking, because apparently "all boys should play baseball" was still a thing parents said in 2024. Leo would rather be anywhere else—home playing Fortnite, at the skate park, literally anywhere that didn't involve standing in front of forty people holding a stick and expecting him to hit a small ball flying at his face.

"You got this!" shouted Mia from the bleachers. She was way too loud for someone he'd been crushing on for three years without ever having a normal conversation with her. His palms were literally dripping now. He wiped them on his uniform pants, which was gross but necessary.

The pitcher wound up. The ball came flying at him. Leo closed his eyes and swung.

*CRACK.*

He opened his eyes. The ball was soaring. Way over the fence. The left fielder just watched it go.

Everyone went absolutely feral. His teammates rushed him, Mia was screaming from the stands, and the coach looked like he'd just won the lottery. Leo stood there, stunned, his palms finally dry for the first time all day.

"What are you, some kind of secret prodigy?" his best friend Kevin asked, shoving his shoulder.

Leo pulled out his iPhone to check the damage—his hands were still shaky. Five notifications. Instagram comments. A text from his mom asking how practice went. And a DM from Mia that just said "that was iconic 😳"

Maybe this summer wouldn't be so terrible after all.

"Hey, prodigy!" his dad yelled from the parking lot. "Get in the car, we're getting ice cream!"

Leo grinned, wiped his palm one last time on his jersey, and jogged toward the fence where his future might actually be looking a little brighter.