The Seventh Inning Stretch

Marcus's palms were sweating so much he could barely grip the foam finger. This was it—his first real hangout with Skylar since she'd broken up with Tyler, and he'd somehow convinced himself that bringing her to a Rivercats baseball game was smooth. It wasn't. It was the opposite of smooth.

"You good?" Skylar asked, nudging his shoulder. Her soda cup was already empty. Inning two.

"Yeah, just—" Marcus wiped his hands on his jeans. "Everything's fine."

From three rows back, he felt it before he saw it—that heavy, suffocating weight of being watched. Bull Davis. The same guy who'd made seventh grade a living nightmare, now somehowbulkier and sitting directly behind them with his lacrosse bros, practically Marcus's personal designated hater.

"Yo, Mar-cus!" Bull's voice carried over the crack of the bat. "You gonna actually catch a foul ball or just stand there looking clueless?"

The entire section turned. Skylar raised an eyebrow.

"Friend of yours?"

"Hard pass," Marcus muttered. But he could feel his face burning anyway.

Here's the thing about being sixteen: your body holds onto humiliation like it's currency. Bull hadn't actually done anything yet, but Marcus was already eleven years old again, trapped in the locker room while everyone laughed and he tried to make himself invisible. His brain started doing that thing where replayed every possible disaster—Bull yelling something worse, Skylar realizing she was too cool for this, him never recovering socially for the remainder of high school.

Then Skylar leaned in close. Her arm brushed his.

"Wanna make him regret existing?"

Marcus blinked. "What?"

"Spy work," she whispered, nodding toward the concessions. "I saw Bull's ex over by the nacho stand. Like, thirty seconds ago. Talking to some guy from Central."

Marcus's brain caught up. "Wait, are you saying—"

"I'm saying," Skylar said, grabbing her phone, "that drama attracts drama. And I know exactly who'd want to know where Sydney is right now."

She typed something rapid-fire, grinning like she'd just discovered a superpower.

By the fifth inning, Bull had abandoned his post behind them entirely, chasing leads and suspicions with the desperation of someone who knew his social standing was one leaked secret away from collapse. Marcus and Skylar had moved to better seats. His palms had finally stopped sweating.

"You're terrifying," he said, watching Bull pace the concourse below, phone pressed to his ear.

Skylar smirked, stealing a fry from his tray. "High school is just strategy, Marcus. You just gotta know who's holding what cards."

The scoreboard lit up—Rivercats up by three. For the first time all afternoon, Marcus actually watched the game, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Being fifteen was weird and messy and sometimes involved psychological warfare at a minor league baseball game, but as Skylar laughed at something on the field, Marcus thought maybe he was figuring it out.

Or at least, he wasn't sweating anymore. That counted for something.