When the Sky Split Open

Marcus stood alone near the dugout, clutching his orange baseball cap like a lifeline. The team mascot—that ridiculous bear costume that usually made everyone crack up—lay abandoned on the field. Coach called it: lightning in the area, game postponed, everyone scatter.

"Dude, you coming?" yelled Tyler, his supposed best friend since third grade. But Marcus noticed Tyler didn't even wait. Typical.

Thunder cracked directly overhead. Marcus's stomach did that thing it always did when he realized his so-called friend group barely included him. He'd been the backup. The plus-one. The guy who got invited because he had a car.

The sky opened up.

He bolted for the concession stand, where he found Brooke—the quiet girl from his English class—shoving her phone into her pocket as rain sheeted down the metal roof.

"That was literally insane lightning," she said, breathless. Her orange converse were soaked through. "You okay?"

Marcus shrugged, then didn't. "Honestly? My friends ditched me."

Brooke raised an eyebrow. "Tyler and them?"

"You noticed?"

"Everyone noticed." She gestured at the emptying parking lot. "They treated you like outfield backup all season. You deserved better than that."

Something about the way she said it—straight up, no sugar-coating—made Marcus's chest feel lighter. Like maybe he wasn't the problem.

"Hey," Brooke said, digging in her bag. "My mom's picking me up. You want a ride? We can finish that discussion about The Great Gatsby. You know, before we fail tomorrow's test together."

Marcus grinned. "Only if you promise to explain why Nick's so obsessed with Gatsby's orange light."

"Deal."

The bear mascot costume still lay on the field as they sprinted to her mom's Honda—ridiculous, empty, somehow perfect. Marcus didn't look back at the dugout where his fake friends waited out the storm.

Some things—like real friendship—you had to recognize even when it hit you like lightning. Others, you left on the field where they belonged.