The Palm Reader's Pitch

Marcus's palms were sweating enough to slide into third base as he gripped the chain-link fence, watching Maya laugh with Tyler by the concession stand. Classic. His ex-best friend and the girl he'd been lowkey crushing on since seventh grade, bonding over overpriced nachos like they were at a baseball game instead of the actual baseball game happening behind them.

"Your future's murky," the fortune teller had told him an hour ago at the carnival booth, tracing the lines on his palm with long purple fingernails. "But today you'll face a bear. And you'll either strike out or hit it out of the park."

He'd thought she was being metaphorical.

Until the actual bear — the school's giant, crusty mascot costume — came shambling toward the infield, the person inside moving with suspicious familiarity. Marcus squinted. The way Bear-Number-Seven adjusted their head, the slight limp in the left leg. He'd know that walk anywhere.

Tyler.

Why was Tyler skipping the game to dress up as the mascot? Unless... Tyler was up to something. And okay, maybe Marcus had been technically spying from behind the snack stand for twenty minutes, but this was different. This was investigation.

The bear costume kept pausing near the home dugout, weirdly specific. Marcus's baseball instincts kicked in — someone was stealing signals, or worse, messing with equipment.

"Hey, Tyler!" Maya called, suddenly spotting the bear. "Is that you in there?"

The bear froze. Then slowly turned toward Marcus.

Marcus's heart did something genuinely concerning. This was it — his chance to prove he wasn't just the backup catcher nobody noticed. He jogged onto the field, every instinct screaming.

"Tyler, I know it's you!" he shouted, ready to expose whatever prank was happening.

The bear's head came off. But it wasn't Tyler.

It was Maya's older brother, grinning like he'd just won the World Series. "Relax, kid. Tyler's in the bathroom. I'm covering his shift."

Marcus stood there, palms sweating again, as Maya doubled over laughing. The entire home section was watching.

"Strike out," someone whispered.

But Maya caught his eye as she wiped tears of laughter. "That was... actually pretty brave though."

His palms stopped sweating.

The fortune teller was right. Some days, you strike out. And some days, someone notices anyway.