Thunder and Old Yeller

The storm rolled in right as Marcus stepped up to the plate. Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, two outs — and this wasn't just some casual backyard baseball game. This was varsity tryouts, and Coach Miller was watching from behind his sunglasses like a hawk.

Marcus gripped the bat until his knuckles turned white. His phone — his entire social life, basically — buzzed in his back pocket. Probably Maya texting about lunch tomorrow. Probably.

Then: lightning.

A white crack split the sky directly above the field, so close Marcus's arm hair stood up. Someone's dog — a golden retriever tied to the fence — started barking its head off. Coach Miller blew the whistle. "Everyone inside! NOW!"

The team scrambled toward the dugout. But Marcus didn't move. He stood frozen, staring at where the lightning had struck the outfield grass. Smoke rose from a perfect black circle in the earth.

"Yo, Marcus, you coming?" called Tyler, the shortstop who'd made varsity as a freshman. Tyler was athletic, confident, had somehow already gotten invited to three parties this month.

"Yeah," Marcus said, but his feet felt glued.

Then Tyler was beside him, grinning. "Bet you can't beat me to the pool."

"What? It's pouring."

"Exactly." Tyler stripped off his jersey. "Induction. Every freshman who makes varsity has to do the swim challenge. Storm swimming. It's tradition."

Marcus stared at him. "You're making that up."

"Am I?" Tyler dove toward the school's indoor pool entrance, shirtless, through the pouring rain.

Marcus stood there for three seconds. His iphone buzzed again — Maya again, probably. He could check it, head to the locker room like a normal person, wait out the storm.

Instead, he sprinted after Tyler through the rain, laughing.

The pool was empty. The overhead lights flickered as thunder shook the building. They jumped in fully clothed — jeans, cleats, everything. The water was shockingly cold, electric against Marcus's skin.

They floated on their backs, watching the storm rage through the skylights.

"You know," Marcus said, treading water, "I was terrified up there. At the plate."

"Me too," Tyler said. "Freshman year. Every time."

"But you're Tyler. You're like, actually good."

"I fake it, bro. I fake it till I make it. That's the secret." Tyler splashed him. "Nobody feels like they know what they're doing. We're all just pretending."

Marcus let himself sink under the surface, holding his breath in the blue quiet. When he came up, something had shifted.

His phone buzzed on the pool deck. He didn't check it.

"Hey," Marcus said. "Next time it storms?"

"Yeah?"

"Text me."