Six AM Zombies

My sneakers hit the pavement at 5:58 AM, exactly like they did every morning since freshman year. Running wasn't just a sport—it was my escape, my meditation, my therapy. But today? Today was different.

"You're actually doing it," Marcus wheezed, jogging up beside me. His face was pale, eyes half-closed. "I look like a zombie. Feel like one too. Why did I let you talk me into joining cross country?"

"Because you want to impress Sarah," I said, grinning. "And because I need a friend who understands my pain."

Marcus groaned. "I think I see actual zombies. They're coming for us. They want our brains. They probably need them more than I do right now."

But then came the incident that would haunt me forever. After practice, I'd finally worked up the courage to talk to Sarah at breakfast. She was sitting with her friends, laughing, her palm resting casually on the table like she owned the world. I walked over, ready to be smooth, ready to finally make my move.

"Hey Sarah," I said, leaning against the table. "What's up?"

She looked at me, confused. Then her friends started giggling. Not laughing—giggling.

"Spinach," Marcus whispered from behind me. "Bro. You have—" He gestured at his own teeth.

My face burned. I'd had a spinach smoothie for breakfast. Of course I did. Because I was trying to be healthy and impress Sarah with my fitness commitment. Instead, I'd spent three minutes talking to my crush with green sludge stuck in my teeth like some kind of nutritional disaster.

"I... gotta go," I mumbled, sprinting toward the bathroom.

Later that day, I found Sarah waiting by my locker.

"For what it's worth," she said, smiling, "that smoothie looked disgusting. But the fact that you kept running even after all that? That was kind of impressive."

My palm was sweating when I asked her to the homecoming game. She said yes.

Sometimes the most embarrassing moments become the best stories. Sometimes your zombie-mode exhaustion leads to unexpected honesty. And sometimes, just sometimes, having spinach in your teeth doesn't ruin everything—it's just how the story starts.