Running on Zombie Hours

The hat was lucky. It had to be. Because I was definitely going to need it.

"You're actually going through with this?" Maya asked, leaning against my locker like she was personally offended by my life choices.

"It's padel, Maya. Not a suicide mission." I adjusted the brim of my dad's old baseball cap—worn, faded, and somehow possessing mystical properties that kept my anxiety from swallowing me whole.

"It's padel with *Him*," she whispered, drawing out the word like it was cursed. "Tyler Evans. Junior. Instagram verified. Probably has better hair than you." She paused. "Definitely has better hair than you."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

But she wasn't wrong. Tyler Evans had somehow decided that *I*, Lena Hoffman—currently ranked exactly nowhere in the social hierarchy—was worthy of being his padel partner. For *tomorrow*.

The problem? I hadn't slept properly in three days. Every time I closed my eyes, my brain supplied a fresh montage of embarrassing scenarios: tripping over my own feet, hitting myself in the face with the racquet, saying "you too" when he said "good luck."

I was operating on pure zombie mode at this point. Walking dead. The halls of Northwood High were basically an apocalypse anyway—everyone mindlessly scrolling, dead-eyed through first period, surviving on caffeine and spite.

"Just breathe," Maya said, suddenly serious. "You've got this. And you've got the hat."

"The hat saves lives," I agreed solemnly.

Then I saw him. Tyler Evans, standing at his locker, laughing at something. He looked... normal. Weirdly normal. Not like some unapproachable deity. Just a guy.

He caught me staring. I froze like a deer in headlights, which is honestly worse than running away but I couldn't make my legs work.

He grinned. "Hey, padel girl. Ready for tomorrow?"

"Yup," I squeaked. "Super ready. Not nervous at all. Why would I be nervous? It's just padel."

I was absolutely running away now. Power walking toward my next class like it housed the cure for awkwardness.

"Lena!" he called after me.

I turned back, heart hammering against my ribs.

"Nice hat," he said.

And okay. Maybe I didn't need luck. Maybe I just needed to stop overthinking everything.

But I was definitely still wearing the hat tomorrow.