The Vitamin Luck Legend

Marcus stared at the Flintstones vitamins on the kitchen counter, seriously considering that maybe, just maybe, the orange one would give him superpowers. Or at least enough confidence to not throw up before baseball tryouts.

"You're still taking those?" His little sister Maya leaned against the doorframe, looking annoyingly unimpressed. "You're fifteen, not five."

"It's called immunity building," Marcus lied, snatching the grape one. "And ritual preparation."

The truth was, Marcus needed all the luck he could get. He'd been working on his pitching for months, practicing until his shoulder throbbed, but the varsity team tryouts today were make-or-break. At Lincoln High, baseball wasn't just a sport—it was social currency. If he made the team, he wasn't just Marcus anymore; he wasMarcus-who-plays-baseball, the kind of person who sat at the good lunch table and got invited to parties.

His lucky hat sat on his backpack—his older brother's old Blue Jays cap, slightly too big, smelling like leather and determination. Their brother was away at college now, living the cool life Marcus desperately wanted.

The tryout field was already buzzing when Marcus arrived. Coach Miller was there, clipboard in hand, along with half the sophomore class who seemed to have all grown six inches over summer. Marcus adjusted his hat, pulling the brim low like his brother used to do.

"Sterling! You're up!"

Marcus stepped onto the mound. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. The catcher—a junior named Marcus couldn't help but notice looked like he'd already graduated—signaled for a fastball.

First pitch: high and outside. Ball.

Second pitch: in the dirt. Ball.

Marcus's face burned. The third pitch had to be perfect. He wound up, everything he'd practiced flowing through him—snap of the wrist, follow-through, release.

Strike. Called perfect.

He threw twelve more pitches that day. Ten were strikes. When Coach Miller handed him the roster sheet, Marcus's hands shook.

"You made it," a voice said behind him.

He turned to see Lily Chen from his English class, her hair in a high ponytail, wearing a varsity jacket. "I saw your curveball. It's gross."

Marcus grinned so hard his face hurt. "Thanks?"

"It's a compliment." She adjusted her own baseball hat—the team hat. "See you at practice tomorrow, Sterling."

Walking home, Marcus called his brother. "I made the team," he said when he answered. "And I think I'm done with the vitamins."

"About time," his brother laughed. "Confidence tastes better than grape chewables anyway."

Marcus adjusted his lucky hat and smiled. Some legends really did come true—minus the artificial colors.