Three Strikes at Sunset

The baseball sat dead center in my glove,沉重like my entire sophomore existence. Tryouts tomorrow and I couldn't stop thinking about Emma Nguyen's text from Friday night. *sorry, not really feeling it that way.* Classic ghost move.

"You're spiraling again," said Marcus, my ride-or-die since kindergarten. We were at the pond behind the old elementary school, skipping stones. "She's not worth missing the team over."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one who'd had a panic attack during third period when she walked past without looking up. My anxiety had the memory of a goldfish—every five minutes, I'd remember she blocked me on Snapchat, and it would feel like the first time all over again.

"Whatever." I threw the baseball. It thunked against the oak tree. "I'm just saying, what's the point? sports are stupid. I'll probably quit anyway."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Your dad would bear-hug you so hard you'd see stars if you quit. You've been playing since tee-ball."

He wasn't wrong. My dad lived for baseball. It was his whole personality. But what was mine?

That's when we heard it—a rustling in the bushes. A massive black bear lumbered out, maybe thirty feet away.

I froze. My palms went sweaty. This was it. This was how I ended. Taken out by Yogi the Cheerios mascot before I even made varsity.

Marcus grabbed my arm. "Dude. Back away. Slow."

We inched backward, hearts pounding, until we were sprinting toward the street. We didn't stop until we reached the corner store, gasping like we'd run bases.

We collapsed against the brick wall, laughing hysterically. The terror, the absurdity, the complete randomness of almost dying by bear attack in suburban Connecticut.

"Holy crap," Marcus wheezed. "That actually happened."

I looked at my hands—the shaking palms, the dirt under my fingernails, the baseball I'd somehow kept clutched in my grip the whole time. And suddenly, everything felt different. Emma's text seemed smaller. My anxiety felt manageable. The things I'd been freaking about weren't life-or-death.

Almost getting eaten by a bear will do that.

"Tryouts," I said, still catching my breath. "I'm not quitting."

Marcus grinned. "Finally. Now buy me a slushie for saving your life."

"You didn't save anything!"

"I moral-supported you into not dying. Same thing."

The bear was gone. But somehow, for the first time in weeks, I wasn't scared anymore.