The Palm Reader's Promise

Marcus's palms were sweating so bad he could practically irrigate a small country. Which would've been fine, except he was currently standing on the pitcher's mound in front of the entire Jefferson High baseball team, the coach who looked like he ate raw spikes for breakfast, and worst of all — Kayla Rodriguez, who sat in the bleachers with her friends, probably completely unaware that Marcus's entire future hinged on this moment.

"You gonna throw that ball sometime today, or you waiting for it to hatch?" called Jake, the team's star pitcher and Marcus's personal nemesis since third grade when Jake had "accidentally" knocked Marcus's lunch tray into his lap.

Marcus's cat, Pancake, had chosen this exact morning to go full feline drama queen and stage a protest by blocking the driveway, forcing Marcus to abandon his lucky socks. His feet were currently encased in what his mom called "performance athletic fabric" but what felt like two angry hamsters gnawing at his toes. If Pancake hadn't decided that today was the day to channel the spirit of a grumpy **bear** hibernating in the middle of the driveway, Marcus would be feeling confident right now instead of like he might barf.

He adjusted his cap, which kept sliding because sweat. Why did **running** bases in gym class never prepare you for the actual pressure of standing still while twenty people judged your existence?

His phone had buzzed earlier that morning. A text from Kayla: Good luck today! Not that you need it. You've been practicing forever.

The message had been sitting in his **palm** like a tiny, precious gem all through breakfast, through Pancake's driveway blockade, through the entire walk to school. Kayla Rodriguez noticed him. Kayla Rodriguez believed in him.

Marcus wound up and threw. The ball sailed straight into the strike zone, fast and clean like he'd practiced a thousand times in his backyard.

"Not bad," the coach grunted, actually looking up from his clipboard. "We'll see you at practice tomorrow, Martinez."

Marcus caught Kayla's eye in the bleachers. She gave him a tiny thumbs-up. And somewhere, in that cosmic way the universe works, he could almost sense Pancake finally moving from the driveway, perhaps finally satisfied that she'd tormented him enough for one morning. Some days, you just had to bear the chaos and throw anyway.