Undercover at the Dugout

Marcus adjusted his brimmed hat, pulling it low like armor. The seventh period bell couldn't ring fast enough. Another day of feeling like a zombie—eyes glazed, brain fried, moving through the hallways on pure instinct. Junior year was absolutely eating him alive.

"You good, bro?" Tyler asked, slapping his shoulder. "You look dead."

"Just tired," Marcus muttered, which wasn't entirely a lie. But the real reason he'd been awake until 3 AM wasn't homework. It was HER.

Chloe.

He'd become a total spy lately, memorizing her schedule without meaning to. Third period calculus (she sat two rows ahead, always chewing on her pen). Lunch (she sat by the windows, laughing at something on her phone). And now—baseball practice.

The team needed an equipment manager for the season, and Marcus had somehow volunteered. Okay, fine—he'd signed up the second he heard Chloe played first base.

He shuffled toward the field, his heart doing that stupid flutter thing. She was already there, stretching near the dugout, hair pulled back in that effortless way that made his throat feel tight.

"Hey! Equipment guy!" Chloe waved him over. "Can you grab my bat from the bag?"

Marcus froze. "Yeah. Totally. I mean—sure."

Smooth. So smooth.

He fumbled with the equipment bag, his fingers suddenly useless. When he turned around, she was watching him with this half-smile that made his stomach flip.

"You're Marcus, right? From calc?"

He almost dropped the bat. "Uh, yeah."

"You always wear that hat," she observed. "What's under there?"

Marcus instinctively touched the brim. It was his security blanket, his don't-look-at-me-I'm-invisible shield.

"Bad hair day," he lied.

"Liar." She grinned. "It's cute though. The hat."

Cute.

The word hung in the air between them, heavy and electric. Marcus felt something shift in his chest—maybe it was courage, maybe it was just insanity.

"You know," he said, surprised by his own voice, "I only took this job because I heard someone on the team needed a better cheering section."

Chloe's eyebrows shot up. "Oh really? And who might that be?"

"The first baseman with the terrifying swing."

She laughed—really laughed, not that polite fake laugh she gave everyone else.

"Well," she said, stepping closer, "you're officially hired. Just promise you'll actually watch the game this time, instead of pretending to read that textbook you bring to every practice."

Marcus's face burned. She'd NOTICED. She'd noticed him noticing her.

"Deal," he managed, and for the first time in months, the zombie fog lifted. He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair—exposed, terrified, and absolutely alive.