Three Strikes at Home

Marcus stood on the pitcher's mound, sweat trickling down his spine even though practice had ended twenty minutes ago. The varsity baseball team scattered toward the parking lot, cleats clicking against asphalt, their laughter carrying on the evening breeze. Marcus stayed frozen, staring at his iPhone screen glowing in the twilight.

*You coming to Jordan's party?* the text from Chloe read.

Marcus's thumbs hovered over the screen. Chloe, the girl who sat behind him in AP Bio, who smelled like vanilla and somehow made even Punnett squares seem interesting. He'd been crushing on her since September, existing firmly in her orbit but never quite in her gravitational pull.

His phone buzzed again. *Everyone's gonna be there 😉*

'Everyone' meant the popular kids. The ones who actually belonged at parties. Marcus had never been that guy. He was the guy who won a goldfish at the spring carnival last weekend and named it Buster after the great Buster Posey, then spent three days researching proper fish care on Reddit while his friends roasted him for being a 'goldfish dad' at lunch.

Buster floated in his bowl on Marcus's nightstand at home, orange fins flickering in the LED light. Something about that stupid fish made Marcus feel less alone. Buster didn't care that Marcus had struck out three times in Friday's game. Buster didn't know that Marcus had never been to a real high school party, that his social life was basically baseball practice and overthinking.

Marcus stared at his phone. *I'll swing by,* he typed, then deleted. *Maybe later,* he typed, then deleted again.

'You good?' The text from his best friend, Ty.

Marcus sighed. *Just give me a sec.*

He thought about Buster, swimming circles in his tiny castle. How every time Marcus approached the bowl, the fish would dart to the glass, ready. Always ready for whatever came next. Food. Attention. Life.

*What if I just showed up?* Marcus typed to Chloe. *Never really done the party thing.*

Three dots appeared immediately. *That's literally the point lol. We're all figuring it out. Even the people who look like they're not.*

Marcus blinked.

*Plus,* she added, *Jordan's dad has a ping pong table and I remember you saying you're secretly good at it.*

A smile tugged at Marcus's lips. He'd mentioned that once, in October, during some lab partner conversation she probably hadn't even been fully listening to. But she remembered.

*On my way,* Marcus typed.

As he jogged toward his car, cleats in hand, phone buzzing with Ty's *FINALLY*, Marcus thought about Buster. Maybe growing up wasn't about becoming someone different. Maybe it was just swimming to the glass when life approached, ready for whatever came next. Even if you were just a goldfish in a bowl, doing loops around a plastic castle.

First time for everything. He'd deal with the party. Then he'd go home and feed Buster. Both felt equally terrifying and exactly right.