The Strikeout at the Deep End

Marcus was the guy who could crush a baseball into orbit, the varsity captain who lived for the crack of the bat and the roar of the crowd. But nobody knew about the thing that made his hands shake and his stomach do backflips.

water.

Specifically, the deep end of the community pool, where Jordan—the girl who'd been sitting behind him in pre-calc since freshman year—was having her birthday party. Everyone was going. The whole team. And when Jordan's eyes found his in the hallway that Tuesday, her smile hitting him harder than any fastball, Marcus heard himself say, "Yeah, I'll be there."

Big mistake. Huge.

Friday afternoon, Marcus stood at the edge of the pool, toes curled against the concrete, while his teammates splashed and laughed like they didn't have a care in the world. His baseball cap was pulled low, hiding the terror he was sure was written all over his face. Jordan waved from the shallow end, looking cute in her oversized sunglasses, and Marcus realized there was no way out.

He took a breath. And another. Just like stepping into the batter's box, he told himself. Except baseball didn't involve drowning.

"Yo Marcus!" called Tyler, floating lazily on an inflatable slice of pizza. "You coming in or what?"

Marcus's heart hammered. He remembered his dad's voice from that summer he tried to teach him to swim: You gotta trust the water, kid. It holds you up if you let it. But Marcus had never been good at letting go.

Jordan was watching now. Everyone was watching.

Screw it.

Marcus jumped.

The shock of cold water seized his chest. His feet kicked frantically, arms thrashing, and for a terrifying second, he was sure this was it—this was how he'd go, the baseball star who drowned at a pool party. But then something weird happened. His body remembered. His legs found a rhythm. His head broke the surface, gasping, and he was actually... swimming.

"You made it!" Jordan laughed, splashing over as he doggy-paddled like a champ. "I was worried you were gonna chicken out."

"Nah," Marcus said, treading water like he'd been doing it his whole life. "Marcus Washington doesn't chicken out."

Jordan smirked. "Good. Because next weekend, we're having a baseball game in the park. I pitch. You think you can hit my curveball?"

Marcus grinned, water dripping from his eyelashes. "Challenge accepted."

And just like that, the terrifying water became something else entirely: a place where maybe—just maybe—he could figure out who Marcus was when nobody was watching.