The Vitamin Routine

Marcus's morning routine was sacred: wake up, stare at the ceiling, take his vitamin—something his mom swore would help him 'grow big and strong' (he was seventeen, five-foot-ten, and definitely done growing)—and feed the stray cat that lived behind the apartment complex. The cat, who he'd named Midnight even though she was ginger, had become his only real friend since moving to this suburbs hell three months ago.

Today was worse than usual. Today was baseball tryouts.

Not that he'd ever played. But his dad had been MVP in high school, and his older brother was the starting pitcher at State. The pressure was real, and Marcus had spent the last week watching YouTube tutorials on 'how to not embarrass yourself at baseball tryouts.' Spoiler: you can't really prepare for that in seven days.

The tryouts were at the park behind the school. Marcus stood in the outfield, his glove feeling like a foreign object, while guys who'd been playing since kindergarten showed off their arms. He felt like a fraud, just waiting for everyone to notice.

Then came the water balloon incident.

Some juniors thought it would be hilarious to launch water balloons at the freshmen trying out. Marcus saw it happening—saw the freshman kid, maybe thirteen, already nervous as hell, about to get drenched. Something in him snapped.

He didn't think. He just moved.

Caught the balloon mid-air. Threw it back.

Silence. Then the baseball coach, Mr. Rodriguez, started clapping.

'Kid's got instincts,' someone said.

Marcus stood there, heart pounding, water dripping from his glove, and realized he'd just made his first real connection—by throwing a water balloon at a bully.

That night, as he fed Midnight and took his vitamin like always, he finally felt like he might actually belong here. Maybe not as the baseball star his family expected. But as something better.

Himself.