Concession Stand Zombies

Maya felt like a zombie after spending half the night binge-watching her show via sketchy cable connection at her dad's house. Now she stood at the concession stand, wearing a polyester uniform that smelled like stale popcorn and regret.

"Hey, earth to Maya," said Marcus, nudging her with his elbow. He was the cute senior she'd been crushing on for months, and they were working the baseball game together. "That customer's waiting."

Right. Customer. Focus. Maya's brain felt like it had been replaced with cotton. "Sorry! What can I get you?"

After the rush, they faced the dreaded task: restocking. The cup pyramid had collapsed into chaos, and they had to rebuild it. This was the worst part of the job—stacking cups into a precarious tower that would inevitably crash down before the next inning.

"You doing okay?" Marcus asked, his voice soft. "You seem, I don't know... off today."

Maya's face heated. "Yeah, just tired. My parents are divorced now, so I'm doing the whole two-houses thing and my mom's place doesn't have cable yet, so I've been staying up late at my dad's catching up on shows. It's dumb."

"It's not dumb," Marcus said, stacking cups with surprising precision. "Divorce sucks. My cousin went through it last year. He said it gets easier."

The way he said it—so casually, like it was no big deal—made Maya's chest loosen. Maybe she didn't have to perform for him. Maybe she could just be... herself.

She turned to grab another stack of cups and caught her reflection in the metal pitcher. A terrifying realization hit her: a massive piece of spinach was wedged between her front teeth, probably from the salad she'd hastily eaten before her shift. It had been there the ENTIRE time she'd been talking to Marcus.

The humiliation was absolute.

"Marcus," she whispered, "how long has that spinach been in my teeth?"

His eyes widened. Then he burst out laughing. Not mean laughing. Real laughing. "Since you got here. I didn't want to say anything and make it weird!"

"Too late," Maya groaned, covering her face.

"Hey, Maya?" She peeked through her fingers. He was still smiling. "Everybody gets food in their teeth. You're good. And if it helps, I once spent an entire day at school with my shirt inside out."

The baseball crowd roared in the background as someone hit a home run. But in that little concession stand, Maya felt something shift. Maybe this weird, messy, spinach-filled moment was the start of something real.

Maybe being a zombie wasn't so bad if you had someone to help you feel human again.