Dead Man Walking to First

The hat was pulled low, but not low enough. I could feel Jake's eyes burning into the back of my neck from the dugout bench, could practically hear the smirk in his voice when he'd whisper to the team about me. The kid who showed up to varsity baseball tryouts looking like he'd just rolled out of a graveyard.

"You look like a zombie," Maya had said that morning, sliding into the seat beside me on the bus. She'd plucked her iPhone from her sparkly case, scrolling through TikTok while I died inside. "Like, literally undead. You good?"

I'd nodded. Because admitting that I'd spent all night watching Jake's Instagram stories — him and the team, him and his perfect life, him looking like he belonged — was pathetic. Fourteen years old and already a certified creep.

The coach blew the whistle. "Harrison! You're up!"

I stepped to the plate, the hat still covering everything but my chin. The pitcher wound up, and I swung. Connected. And then I did the unforgivable — I watched it. Watched the ball soar toward left field, watched Jake shade his eyes against the sun, watched him collide with the fence while the ball kept going.

"Run!" someone screamed.

But I couldn't. Not because I'd forgotten how. Not because my legs felt like they'd been replaced with rotting, zombie-fied tree trunks. But because in that moment, watching Jake peel himself off the ground, dust off his jersey, and glare at me with something that looked almost like... respect?

That's when I caught movement along the baseline. Coach's kid, Lily, crouched behind the equipment rack, her phone raised like she was recording something. Like she'd been recording everything.

Maya was right. I was a spy in my own life, watching from the sidelines while everyone else actually lived it. But watching wasn't living.

I dropped my bat. I rounded first base, chest heaving, and for the first time in three years, I tipped my hat back. Let them see my face. Let them see me grinning like an idiot while Jake limped over, extending his hand.

"Nice hit," he said. And the terrifying part? He meant it.

Maybe zombies weren't the ones who were dead. Maybe the zombies were the ones who never let themselves be seen.