Game Point Zombie
I looked like a zombie. Like, actual walking dead status. Three hours of sleep because I'd been doom-scrolling until 3 AM, again. The cafeteria's fluorescent lighting wasn't helping my case.
"You good, Maya?" Liam asked, sliding into the seat across from me.
"Never been more alive," I deadpanned. "Just vibrating with cosmic energy."
He laughed. Good. That was the goal. Keep it breezy, keep it funny, never let them see the spiraling.
Liam was the kind of guy who got called a fox by older girls at parties. The kind with sandy hair and easy charm and zero idea how his actual smile could make someone forget their own name. Not that I was speaking from experience. Because I wasn't. Definitely not.
"Padel today?" he asked. "After school?"
My stomach did that thing. That flippy, annoying thing. "Yeah. I'll be there."
Padel was my lifeline. The court was the only place where my brain stopped screaming about GPAs and college applications and whether my friends actually liked me or just tolerated me because we'd been in the same friend group since seventh grade. The rhythm of the ball, the satisfying THWACK against the glass walls—it cleared my head.
After school, I fumbled through my bag. My padel racket was nowhere.
"Looking for this?"
I looked up. Liam stood there, holding my racket, grinning like he'd just discovered fire.
"You're the actual worst," I said, but I was smiling. I couldn't help it.
"Come on, zombie," he said, tossing me the racket. "Let's play."
We played until our shirts were soaked and the sky turned that bruised purple color of sunset. I returned his serve, the ball hitting the sweet spot in my strings, sending it rocketing past his outstretched arm.
Game point.
"Not bad for the walking dead," Liam said, chest heaving.
"Watch it," I said, but something in my chest loosened. Maybe I wasn't so dead after all. Maybe I could figure out who I was supposed to be—one padel game at a time.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
"You know it."
And for the first time in forever, I meant it.