Dead Tired Walking

Marcus zombie-walked into third period AP Bio, his brain still fried from the midnight reconnaissance mission. Three hours of sleep would turn anyone into the walking dead, but he'd do it again for Leila.

"Dude, you look rough," whispered JT, his best friend since fourth grade. "Was the intel worth it?"

Marcus nodded slowly, sliding into his seat. Everything worth knowing at Northwood High came with a price, and last night he'd paid in full. He'd spent two hours playing spy, watching Tyler's house through night vision binoculars he'd "borrowed" from his older brother's closet. The mission: determine whether Tyler was planning to ask Leila to spring formal first.

"He's definitely making a move," Marcus whispered back, his stomach doing that awful lurchy thing. "Saw him practicing something in his mirror at 11 PM. Looked like a dance routine or possibly a seizure."

JT snorted, earning a death-glare from Ms. Chen. "Bro, you've got nothing to worry about. You're the starting pitcher. Tyler couldn't throw a baseball into the ocean if he was standing on a beach."

But Marcus knew the truth: Leila didn't care about his fastball. She liked Tyler's indie band and his vintage denim jacket and the way he quoted philosophers nobody actually understood. Marcus was just the jock who'd accidentally bear-hugged her in the hallway last week when he was hyped about their playoff win. She'd smiled, but he'd seen the confusion in her eyes.

"What if I'm the wrong kind of friend?" Marcus muttered, staring at his textbook without seeing a single mitochondria.

"You're overthinking this," JT said, but the worry was evident in his voice. "Just talk to her. Being real beats playing the game any day."

The bell rang, and Marcus gathered his stuff, feeling like he'd been through a zombie apocalypse and survived. Maybe JT was right. Maybe he needed to stop spying and start living.

He found Leila by her locker, struggling with a stuck combination lock. His hands shook as he reached out to help.

"Hey," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I heard there's a zombie movie marathon at the Ritz this weekend. You know, if you're into that kind of terrible life decision."

Leila looked up, surprised, then grinned. "I was actually just thinking about how much I love terrible movies."

Marcus exhaled, finally feeling alive. "Saturday at seven?"

"It's a date," she said, and Marcus walked to baseball practice feeling like he could pitch a perfect game blindfolded.