The Smoothie Slider

Marcus's pregame ritual was sacred: three eggs, hash browns, and zero interaction with humans. But today, his mom had other plans.

"Drink this. You need energy." She shoved a monstrosity toward him—a spinach smoothie the color of toxic waste.

"Mom, I'm not trying to be healthy, I'm trying to crush it at bat."

"Just drink it, Marcus. It's got protein powder and stuff."

He sighed and chugged it, gagging slightly. The ride to the field was mercifully short, and he spent it scrolling through his iPhone, psyching himself up with his pre-game playlist.

The baseball diamond was already buzzing when he arrived. Lacey waved from the bleachers, and Marcus felt that familiar flutter in his chest. They'd been flirting for weeks, mostly through Instagram DMs and awkward hallway encounters. Today, he was finally going to make a move after the game.

"You ready, Marcus?" called Tyler, the team's star pitcher. "Varsity scouts are here."

"Born ready," Marcus said, ignoring how his stomach did somersaults. Probably the spinach.

First inning: strikeout swinging.

Third inning: groundout to second.

Fifth inning: Marcus stepped to the plate, nerves fraying. The count was full, bases loaded. This was it—the moment he'd been dreaming about since Little League.

He fouled off two pitches. Then he connected.

The ball sailed toward right field. Marcus bolted toward first base, pumping his arms. He rounded second, breathing hard. Third base coach waved him home.

And that's when his stomach rebelled.

The spinach smoothie chose its moment. Marcus felt it rising—unignorable, unstoppable. He tried to hold it in, but momentum and biology aligned against him.

Green vomit erupted mid-sprint, spraying across the baseline as he slid toward home plate.

Safe.

But at what cost?

The entire field went silent. Then—laughter. Not mean laughter, but the kind that comes from something so absurd it transcends embarrassment.

Lacey was doubled over, wheezing. Tyler was practically crying. Even the varsity scouts were chuckling.

Marcus lay sprawled on home plate, covered in dirt and shame. His iPhone buzzed in his pocket—probably a notification that someone had already posted about it.

"Dude!" Tyler finally managed, still gasping. "You literally marked your territory!"

Marcus started laughing too. There was nothing else to do. A home run that ended with vomiting spinach on home plate? That was the kind of story you couldn't make up.

Lacey jogged over, still grinning. "That was the most metal thing I've ever seen."

"Yeah, well." Marcus wiped his mouth. "I really brought my A-game. Literally."

"Smoothies!" someone yelled from the dugout.

"Spinach power!" another voice added.

Later, as they sat in the dugout, Marcus's iPhone lit up with Instagram notifications. Someone had posted a photo: Marcus mid-slide, arms wide, green evidence behind him like a comet tail. The caption read: MOST EPIC HOME RUN EVER. He was tagged.

"Check this," Marcus showed Lacey. "I'm going viral for throwing up spinach."

"You're a legend," she said, leaning into his shoulder. "Also, maybe text your mom and thank her for the power smoothie?"

Marcus laughed, looked at his phone, then put it away. The scouts hadn't left. His teammates were still chanting about spinach. Lacey's hair smelled like coconut.

Yeah. Some days, you hit a home run. Some days, you throw up on it. Either way, you keep playing.