It was early afternoon in Columbus, Indiana, and the sun was working overtime like it was being paid in SPF. Lincoln Park shimmered with weekend energy—birds chirped, grass glistened, and the Columbus Little League was in full swing at the baseball field. Kids in oversized jerseys ran the bases, parents cheered with foam fingers and unfiltered caffeine, and right in the heart of the action, something unholy was happening.

Rachel King and Eric King were stuck together inside a sweltering concession stand that smelled like hot dog water, processed cheese, and despair.

Rachel leaned against the counter, clutching a red slushie like it was a lifeline. "I swear, if one more child asks me for a popsicle with attitude, I'm launching myself into the nearest cornfield."

Eric, face glistening with the sweat of regret, was taking orders from a woman with four kids and an iced coffee that looked like it had survived three marriages.

"We're out of curly fries," he muttered, already dead inside.

Rachel grabbed a tray and began scooping gooey nachos into a paper boat like it was a glam apocalypse ration.

"Nachos and cheese for… MARIA!"

A voice chirped from the crowd. "¡Gracias, chica!"

Rachel perked up. From the bleachers emerged a stylish woman in sunglasses and a Columbus North High School Baseball Coach hoodie. It was Maria, former sorority sister of Andrew and Daniel from the Little Hope days, and a whole moment. Maria had a clipboard in one hand, hoop earrings that could slice glass, and the confidence of someone who had screamed at a school board and won.

"Maria?!" Rachel gasped. "Oh my God, you look like Selena and Selena Gomez had a baby and coached it in both fashion and fast pitch!"

Maria smirked, accepting her nachos with a graceful nod. "Girl, I've been wrangling high school baseball players and Spanish quizzes all week. This is my vacation."

"You still teaching Español and coaching like a legend?"

"Sí, baby. And we're sponsoring this game. Adaptive baseball. Every single player out here has a superpower."

Rachel smiled wide. "That's iconic."

Then came Eric, stomping over with a foam cup in hand and a face like a traffic cone full of rage.

"I just gave a grown man Capri Sun with attitude, and a kid just asked me if we had 'organic gluten-free kettle corn.' This is the cheesiest event I've ever worked."

Rachel's head snapped so fast she almost dislocated it.

"Excuse you?"

Eric blinked. "I mean like, metaphorically cheesy. It's, like, cute-cheesy."

Rachel crossed her arms, eyes narrow like a security camera. "Maria is behind this event. You just insulted her and the disability community. Do you want a formal cancellation ceremony or just a spicy tweet storm?"

Eric raised his hands. "No, no—wait! I love disabled people. I'm all about supporting—uh—neurodiversity and…"

Rachel cut him off, eyes wide with fake sincerity. "Don't crowbar your way out of this."

Eric paused. "I'm sorry. What?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Crowbar. It means forcing fake empathy to squeeze yourself out of a jam. Like, you know, this moment."

Eric rubbed his temples. "You just make up words. You're like the Urban Dictionary's feral cousin."

Rachel turned to Maria. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Maria shrugged, munching on her nachos. "Crowbar's kind of fire, actually."

Eric leaned on the counter. "I'm losing my grip on reality and you're handing out new slang like candy at Comic-Con."

Rachel looked at him, deadpan. "You're just mad because I'm fluent in emotional manipulation and Spanglish."

Eric rolled his eyes so hard a kid in the dugout flinched.

Then Rachel clutched her stomach.

"You know what? I need the restroom."

Eric laughed. "What now? You have to poop because you inhaled a whiff of actual work?"

Rachel stood tall. "No, I need to breathe. Away from the smell of regret and Axe Body Spray in here."

She sashayed off toward the restroom area, but the moment she was out of sight, she ducked behind the concession trailer like a secret agent on her last nerve.

Whipping out her phone, she called the only people she trusted right now.

"Producers. Hi. It's Rachel. Yes, again. I'm done."

A pause.

"No, like done done. I just watched a grown man get bested by Capri Suns and insult a disability charity event. I'm not surviving Iraq 2.0: The Nacho Reckoning. I need you to come get me. Now."

Another pause.

"I want to go back to Jason and Salim's house. Their bath towels smell like eucalyptus and intimacy. This concession stand smells like suffering and a high school locker room. I'm not doing it. I am not going to sit here and share a counter with a walking man-hole."

A long silence.

"Great. Bring snacks."

She hung up.

Back at the stand, Eric was still muttering under his breath.

"I can't believe I'm getting judged by someone who talks like a pop culture Rubik's cube."

As he handed a juice box to a toddler in a Spider-Man shirt, a voice echoed from behind the trailer.

"ERIC, THE MAN-HOLE, IS IN EFFECT! SHUT. IT. DOWN."

Eric blinked. "She didn't just…"

Rachel returned moments later, smiling serenely.

"Had a beautiful moment of reflection. Also, a protein bar."

Eric looked at her. "Why are you smiling?"

Rachel leaned in and whispered, "Because my Uber's coming, and you're about to be alone with the cheese."

Then she reached into the cooler, grabbed a sparkling water, and strutted off.

Maria passed by and high-fived her.

Eric stood alone at the counter, holding a bag of Funyuns and a broken soul.

One kid looked up at him.

"Do you have vegan nachos?"

Eric stared at the horizon.

He was going to need more than a Capri Sun.