Vitamin D and Velocity

The neon sign flickered above GNC like it was having an existential crisis. Marcus stood behind the counter, swirling a shaker bottle like he was mixing potions instead of protein powder and water.

"You need this," he said, sliding a bottle of bright orange pills toward me. "Vitamin D3, bro. It's basically sunshine in a capsule. Your swing's been weak lately—you can tell."

I rolled my eyes but bought them anyway because Marcus was my best friend, and also because he wasn't wrong. My batting average had dropped to .187, which wasn't just bad—it was practically tragic. Every time I stepped into the batter's box, I could feel everyone watching. Coach Miller's disappointed face. My dad checking his watch. The way Chloe from algebra class would look anywhere but at the field when I struck out.

"You coming to Tyler's party tonight?" Marcus asked. "Rumor has it Sarah's cousin is in town. The one who reads palms."

"Palm reading? Seriously?" I shoved the vitamins into my backpack. "What is this, 1999?"

"Dude, she called it. Last weekend at Maya's, she told Jake he'd meet someone special before graduation. He literally matched with Sophia on Tinder TWO HOURS LATER." Marcus leaned over the counter. "Your palms are probably sweaty just thinking about it."

He wasn't wrong about that either.

The party was already packed when we got there. Someone had set up a baseball wiffle game in the backyard—because apparently we couldn't go two days without reminding each other we played varsity. That's when I saw him: Tyler's older brother, home from college, holding court by the fire pit like he owned everything he surveyed.

"Freshman year," he was saying, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Marcus tried out for the team. Coach cut him after twenty minutes. Said he ran like he was carrying invisible groceries."

The backyard went quiet. Marcus's face went completely blank—his I'm-fine face, the one I'd seen a thousand times when his dad forgot to pick him up from practice. This wasn't just friendly trash talk. This was straight-up malicious.

I walked over to the fire pit, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. "Hey man," I said, "that story's kind of played out. We all know Marcus didn't get cut. He quit because he didn't want to play with guys who think being a dick counts as leadership."

Everyone stared. Tyler's brother stood up, and for a second I thought he was going to punch me. But then Marcus appeared beside me, grinning like nothing in the world was wrong.

"Bro, you still telling that story?" Marcus laughed, and it sounded so genuine that even I almost believed it. "I keep telling you—I was FAST. Just too fast for your slow-ass pitching style."

The tension broke. Someone whooped. Suddenly the baseball game started back up, and someone yelled for me to take batting practice.

"You didn't have to do that," Marcus said later, when we were sitting on the roof watching the stars.

"Yeah, I did."

"No, you really didn't." He pulled something from his pocket—Sarah's cousin had apparently done palm readings after all. "She said something to me, though. Said she could tell I've been carrying someone else's burdens. Said true friends don't let that happen."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just bumped his shoulder with mine. "Whatever. Just don't let me strike out tomorrow."

"Take your vitamins,," Marcus said. "I'm not carrying your ass through the playoffs again."