The Strikeout Confession

Tyler's thumb hovered over the screen, the blue bubbles of his own bullshit taunting him from the group chat. 'Yeah, Friday's game is huge,' he'd typed three hours ago. 'Varsity tryouts, scout coming in from State.'

Total bull. Complete, grade-A fertilizer.

He gripped his iPhone like it was radioactive, the sleek glass warming against his palm. Since moving to Oak Creek last month, Tyler had spun an elaborate fantasy about being the starting pitcher back at his old school. It was supposed to be a temporary thing—just enough social currency to land a lunch table on his first day. But then the lies had taken on a life of their own, multiplying faster than he could track them.

Now Jenna was waiting for him at the baseball diamond. Jenna with her perfect eyeliner and the way she actually laughed at his terrible jokes. Jenna who'd mentioned she used to play travel ball and wanted to see his 'signature curveball.'

Tyler stood outside the dugout, heart hammering against his ribs. He could keep lying. Show up, fake an injury, make up something about his shoulder. There were a dozen exits, each more cowardly than the last.

Or he could tell the truth.

The walk to the dugout felt miles long. Jenna sat on the bench, iPhone in hand, probably scrolling through the same text thread that was currently destroying Tyler's stomach. She looked up, spotting him, and something in her expression shifted—relief, anticipation.

'I thought you'd never get here,' she said, then paused. 'You look like you're gonna puke.'

Tyler sank onto the bench beside her. 'I quit baseball last year.' The words tumbled out, jagged and honest. 'After I threw up in the middle of a game. Full panic attack, couldn't breathe, everything.' He exhaled, shoving his phone deep into his pocket. 'I've been lying about everything. The games, the stats—all of it.'

Silence stretched between them. Jenna studied his face like she was reading a text she hadn't expected.

'So,' she said slowly, 'you're telling me you voluntarily gave up your weekends to sit at dumb tournaments and drink lukewarm Gatorade?' A grin tugged at her mouth. 'Dude, that's not a failure. That's called seeing the light.'

Tyler blinked.

'I haven't picked up a bat in eighteen months and I've never been happier.' She pulled her phone from her pocket. 'My turn for a confession: I was only coming to watch because my mom made me bring my little brother to his game. I'd literally rather be anywhere else.'

Tyler's chest finally loosened. 'So... you don't hate me?'

'Hate you?' Jenna stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. 'Tyler, you just survived the most excruciating social execution of all time and you're still here. That's way more impressive than throwing a ball.' She nodded toward the parking lot. 'Wanna go get food and talk about how much organized sports suck?'

'Yeah,' Tyler said, pulling his iPhone from his pocket and finally turning the screen face down. 'Yeah, I really do.'