The Shortstop's Secret

Leo's palms were sweating — literally sweating — as he gripped the **baseball** bat. Tryouts for the varsity team were in ten minutes, and his stomach was doing that thing where it felt like a swarm of angry hornets had taken up residence.

"You got this, bro," Marcus said, clapping him on the shoulder. But Marcus didn't know. Nobody knew.

The truth was, Leo didn't even *like* baseball. He'd been pretending since seventh grade, because that's what his dad loved, that's what his friends were into, that's what you were supposed to care about in this town. But every time he stepped up to the plate, he felt like he was starring in a play he'd never rehearsed for.

Last night he'd been **spying** on his older sister's Instagram again — stalking, really, which was pathetic. She was at college now, living this apparently perfect life with perfect friends and perfect parties. Leo was still stuck here, lying about who he was even to himself.

Coach blew the whistle. "Let's see what you got, Mendez."

Leo stepped into the batter's box. The pitcher wound up and fired a fastball right down the middle. Leo swung and missed. The echo of the empty *CLINK* reverberated through the empty field.

He couldn't **bear** it. The pretending, the pressure, the way his dad's face would fall if he washed out this year. All of it.

"One more," Coach called out.

Leo looked at his hands, slick on the bat handle. He thought about his sister's Instagram post from yesterday — a picture of her dropping out of pre-med to pursue art. The caption read: *"Finally stopped lying to myself. Sometimes the scariest thing is also the only thing."*

He set the bat down on the home plate.

"Everything okay, son?" Coach asked, stepping forward.

"Actually," Leo said, his voice shaking but steady enough, "no. I don't want to do this anymore."

The silence stretched. And stretched. Marcus's jaw was practically on the ground.

Leo walked off the field, heart pounding, and pulled his phone from his pocket. No more **cable** TV dinners watching games he didn't care about. No more pretending. His palms were still sweating, but for the first time in forever, it was excitement, not fear.

He had no idea what came next. But whatever it was, at least it would be real.