Riddle of the Dugout Zombie

Marcus dragged himself to the baseball dugout feeling like a straight-up **zombie**. Three hours of practice followed by two hours of history homework would do that to you. His life had become an endless loop of swing-the-bat, study-for-the-test, repeat.

"Dude, you look dead," said Ty, slapping him on the back. "Big game tonight. You ready?"

Marcus nodded, but his brain was still stuck on yesterday's lunch. He'd finally worked up the courage to sit next to Jasmine—the girl with the **orange** streaks in her hair who somehow made AP History look like a comedy show—and he'd said exactly zero words. Just sat there vibrating with nervous energy while she calmly explained why the **sphinx** was actually the original catfish (ancient Egyptians would catfish people with those riddles, then vanish into the desert).

"You good?" Ty asked.

"Fine. Just... tired."

His mom's new health kick wasn't helping. Yesterday she'd introduced him to **papaya**. "It's like nature's candy," she'd promised. It was like nature's soap, actually. But he'd eaten the whole thing because he was trying to be the kind of person who ate papayas. The kind of person who talked to girls with orange hair without feeling like his tongue had been replaced by a marshmallow.

"Marcus!" Coach yelled. "Batting practice! Let's go!"

He grabbed his helmet and jogged to the plate. Something felt different today. Maybe it was the papawa-induced clarity. Maybe it was Jasmine's voice in his head: *The sphinx asked riddles because she wanted to see who was actually paying attention.*

First pitch: CRACK. Line drive to center.

Second: CRACK. Deep to left.

Third: He watched it sail over the fence. A legit home run. The team rushed him, screaming, and for the first time all week, Marcus didn't feel like a zombie. He felt like someone who might actually sit next to Jasmine tomorrow and say something.

Anything.

"What's got into you?" Ty asked afterward, grinning.

Marcus thought about the sphinx, the papaya, the orange-streaked girl who made ancient mythology feel like gossip.

"Just trying new things," he said.

And somewhere in the dugout, his phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: *Nice swing. —Jasmine*

Marcus almost dropped his phone. Sometimes the universe didn't riddle you. Sometimes it just threw you a perfect pitch.