The Papaya Incident

Marcus stood in front of his bathroom mirror, adjusting his collar for the third time. The orange polo shirt his mom had picked out screamed 'I'm trying too hard,' but it was too late to change now.

"You're going to crush it, champ," his dad had said that morning, completely missing the fact that Marcus wasn't the athletic type. The baseball tryouts were today, and somehow—possibly through a cosmic joke or a clerical error—Marcus's crush, Jasmine, had mentioned she thought guys who played baseball were cute.

Now here he was, about to humiliate himself in front of the entire sophomore class.

"Yo, Marcus!" called out Tyler from across the field. "You ready to show us your stuff?"

Marcus managed what he hoped passed for a confident nod. His palms were sweating. He hadn't played organized baseball since seventh grade, when he'd been hit in the face with a pitch and decided sports were not his thing.

But then he saw her. Jasmine sat in the bleachers with her friends, and his stomach did that annoying fluttery thing. She waved. He waved back, accidentally knocking over someone's water bottle with his backpack.

"Smooth," someone muttered.

Coach blew the whistle. Marcus's turn at bat. He stepped up to the plate, the wooden bat feeling foreign and heavy in his hands. The pitcher—some junior who definitely took himself too seriously—wound up and released the ball.

It was coming right at him.

Marcus swung. Completely missed. The ball hit the catcher's mitt with a disappointing thud.

"Strike one!"

Second pitch. Swing and a miss.

"Strike two!"

The pressure was mounting. He could feel everyone's eyes on him. He glanced at the bleachers—Jasmine was watching, phone in hand, probably documenting his failure for Snapchat.

Third pitch. Marcus closed his eyes and swung.

PING.

He opened his eyes. The ball was sailing through the air, past the outfielder, over the fence. A home run. His first home run ever.

The team went wild. Jasmine was actually smiling.

After practice, Jasmine found him by the dugout. "That was awesome! I didn't know you could hit like that."

"Yeah, neither did I," Marcus laughed, feeling lighter than he had all day. "Hey, my abuela made this papaya smoothie thing if you want some? It's actually way better than it sounds."

She smiled. "I'd love that."

Marcus walked home that afternoon floating on air. Sometimes the universe wasn't just messing with you. Sometimes, just sometimes, you got the home run, the girl, and a perfectly good papaya smoothie all in the same day.