The Vitamin C Curveball

Marcus stood at the plate, baseball bat feeling like a lead pipe in his sweaty hands. The summer heat shimmered off the asphalt, making the pitcher—Dylan, captain of the varsity team and all-around king of sophomore year—look like he was about to dissolve.

"You gonna swing sometime today, bro?" Dylan called out. His crew snickered from the dugout.

Marcus's stomach churned. He'd been choking on vitamin C gummies all week, his mom's desperate attempt to boost his "immunity" before tryouts. Like orange-flavored rubber bears could fix his coordination problem.

The first pitch came—high and outside. Ball one. Small victory.

Then he heard it: the jingle of tags. Buster, his ancient golden retriever, had somehow escaped the backyard and was trotting onto the field like he owned the place.

"No, Buster! BAD DOG!" Marcus yelled, but it was too late. Buster made a beeline for home plate, flopped down in the dirt, and started rolling on his back like a drama queen taking a curtain call.

The entire team burst out laughing. Even Dylan cracked a grin. "Bro, your dog just called timeout."

Marcus face burned hotter than the pavement. But then—Buster sat up, fixed his soulful eyes on the pitcher, and let out the most determined woof in canine history.

"Alright, alright," Dylan said, still chuckling. "Dog's calling for a reset. New pitch."

Something shifted. The pressure in Marcus's chest loosened. His weird, wonderful, vitamin-crazed dog had just made thevarsity captain laugh.

The next pitch came in low. Marcus swung—

CRACK.

The ball sailed over everyone's heads into the outfield gap. As he ran, Buster sprinting joyfully alongside him (now apparently his personal mascot), Marcus thought: sometimes the weirdest ingredients make the best story.

And maybe those vitamin gummies weren't so useless after all.