Weights We Bear

The baseball smacked into my glove with a satisfying thwack, but my heart was pounding for a totally different reason. This was it - my chance to finally prove I wasn't just the theater kid who'd somehow wandered onto the varsity team.

"Nice catch, drama boy," Tyler called out from the pitcher's mound. "Don't get too comfortable out there in left field. We all know why you're really here."

My face burned. Everyone knew. I'd only made the team because my older brother was a legend back in the day, and the coach had been hoping for lightning to strike twice. Spoiler alert: it hadn't. I couldn't hit worth anything, and my throwing arm was basically just for decoration.

But I could catch. Sometimes.

The problem was, I didn't even LIKE baseball. I'd much rather be at rehearsal for the school musical, but my dad had been pushing me to "man up" and "carry on the family legacy" since forever. So here I was, sweating through my uniform while trying not to embarrass myself.

After practice, the guys were all heading to the lake for their usual post-game ritual. Every Friday, the baseball team jumped in the lake to celebrate making it through another week. Even though it was April and the water was still basically freezing.

"You coming, Fisher?" Tyler asked, already shirtless and flexing for the sophomore girls who'd gathered to watch. "Or are you too scared you'll mess up your hair?"

The guys laughed. I forced a smile. "Nah, I'm good. Gotta get home and, uh, work on my history project."

"That's code for 'I'm going home to cry about my feelings,'" someone called out.

More laughter. I grabbed my backpack and headed toward the parking lot, trying to ignore the burning in my throat. Why did I have to bear this constant humiliation? Why couldn't I just quit and focus on what I actually loved?

Then I saw her. Maya Rodriguez from my English class, sitting on a bench near the lake's edge. She was sketching in a notebook, completely focused, while the baseball guys continued their loud showing-off in the background.

"Hey," she said, looking up as I walked past. "Aren't you Fisher? From the baseball team?"

I cringed. "Yeah, but I'm not actually any good. It's kind of a long story."

She smiled, and something in my chest did this weird fluttery thing. "Well, you looked pretty graceful out there. Not like those other gorillas. They're all 'look at me, I can throw a ball really hard.'"

I laughed, actually laughed. "Yeah, Tyler definitely thinks he's God's gift to athletics."

"So why do you do it? If you don't like it?"

I sat down next to her. "Family stuff. My dad, my brother... they want me to be this baseball star, but I'd honestly rather be doing literally anything else. I tried out for the spring musical, but my dad 'accidentally' signed me up for baseball tryouts the same weekend."

Maya nodded. "That sucks. Parents can be so weird about living through their kids. My mom wants me to be a doctor because she is one, but I just want to go to art school."

"You're really talented," I said, gesturing to her sketchbook. "What are you drawing?"

She showed me. It was an incredible pencil drawing of the lake, with the baseball players frozen mid-action like Greek statues caught in ridiculous poses. Tyler was captured mid-flex, looking absolutely absurd.

"Oh my god, that's perfect," I said. "You've totally captured his essence."

Maya laughed. "Art is my rebellion. What's yours?"

I thought about it. "I don't know. I guess... I keep doing what they want because I'm scared to disappoint them. But maybe that's the problem. Maybe I need to disappoint them a little to make myself happy."

"Swimming against the current," she said thoughtfully. "That's the hardest kind."

"Yeah. No more bearing the weight of their expectations. I think I'm done."

"So, Fisher," she said, closing her sketchbook. "What would you rather be doing right now?"

"Honestly? I'd rather be helping you with that drawing. Maybe we could add some more detail to the baseball players. I've got some great material on Tyler's ego."

Maya's smile widened. "I think that can be arranged. But first, you have to promise me something."

"What's that?"

"Next time you see Tyler, don't let him get under your skin. You're better than that. And I'd love to see you at the musical auditions next week. I heard you're actually really good."

I felt my face heat up, but this time it wasn't from embarrassment. "How did you know about that?"

"I have my sources," she teased. "So, you in?"

"Yeah," I said, feeling lighter than I had in months. "Yeah, I'm in."

As we walked toward the art building together, I realized something: I didn't have to be what everyone else wanted. I could be my own person. And having someone like Maya by my side didn't hurt either. Some weights aren't meant to be borne alone - and sometimes, you just need to jump into the deep end and see if you can swim.