The Signal Dropped

Marcus adjusted his **hat** brim, trying to look like he'd been to a million **baseball** tryouts before. The truth? He hadn't picked up a bat since little league, when his dad's work schedule made every practice feel like a favor instead of a priority. But at fourteen, with high school looming like a storm cloud, Marcus needed something—anything—that wasn't just being the quiet kid who sat alone at lunch.

His **iPhone** buzzed in his pocket. Again. The group chat was blowing up with weekend plans that didn't include him, as usual. Marcus's thumb hovered over the screen, desperate to check notifications, until Coach Martinez's voice cut through his distraction.

'Last chance for cuts, kid. You're up.'

The **cable** connecting his phone to the charger back home felt miles away. His battery was at 12%, and the anxiety of being disconnected from his digital lifeline warred with the embarrassment of striking out in front of everyone. Especially her—Sarah from English class, who sat in the bleachers with her friends, probably live-streaming this train wreck.

Marcus stepped into the batter's box. The pitcher wound up. Marcus swung.

*CRACK.*

The ball sailed into the gap. He bolted for first, then second, sliding in just ahead of the tag. Dust coated his jeans, his hat was backwards now, and his heart pounded like he'd just finished a marathon.

Sarah actually cheered.

Later, when his phone finally died on the walk home, Marcus didn't panic. For the first time in forever, the silence felt okay. He'd gotten on base. He'd made contact. Maybe high school wouldn't be so bad after all.

Maybe he didn't need the signal to feel connected anymore.