Under the Cap

Marcus pulled the faded baseball cap lower, eyes darting across the crowded hallway. The brim—curved just right from years of overthinking—hid everything he didn't want anyone to see: the insecurity, the overactive sweat glands, the kid who still cried when his parents fought.

"Yo, Marcus!" Tyrell's voice cut through the noise like a perfectly timed joke. "We're still on for the game, right?"

"Yeah," Marcus managed, adjusting the hat like it was part of his nervous system. "Totally."

They'd been best friend since sixth grade, back when friendship meant sharing Pokémon cards and not worrying about who was sitting with whom at lunch. Now everything felt different. Tyrell had hit his growth spurt, joined varsity, started saying things like "no cap" and "bet" with terrifying confidence. Marcus still felt like the same kid who couldn't catch a baseball to save his life.

The game that afternoon was a disaster before it even started. Tyrell's squad dominated the field while Marcus sat in the dugout, cap pulled so low he could barely see the scoreboard.

"You good, bro?" Tyrell slid onto the bench next to him, sweating and perfect. "You've been weird all week."

Marcus's heart did that thing where it felt like it might explode. "I'm not..." He swallowed. "I'm not trying out for the team."

The silence stretched between them like the seventh inning of a scoreless game.

"Oh." Tyrell studied his cleats. "That's cool. I figured—"

"You figured I'd just follow you around like always." The words burst out before Marcus could stop them. "That I'd wear the hat and show up and pretend to be someone I'm not."

Tyrell actually laughed. "Bro, you think I'd care? I was literally waiting for you to quit so we could finally work on that comic you keep talking about."

Marcus blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Duh. You've been obsessing over that superhero thing since January. I was gonna ask if you wanted to collab, but you were always at baseball practice." Tyrell nudged his shoulder. "You good at drawing, Marcus. Better than you are at catching fly balls, and that's saying something because you kinda suck at that too."

Marcus adjusted his cap, then pulled it off completely. The air felt different without the familiar weight.

"So we're... good?"

"We're straight." Tyrell stood up and held out his hand. "Now let's go. I'm starving, and you owe me for listening to you vent."

"I don't owe you anything!"

"You literally do. I missed two runs having this conversation with you."

Marcus grinned, following his friend toward the parking lot. Maybe next week he'd wear the hat differently. Maybe not at all.