Sunday Morning Zombie Mode

I showed up at the padel court looking like a literal zombie. Three hours of sleep because Maya decided to ghost me at 2 AM—she was "busy" but her Instagram story said otherwise. Classic. Now here I was, about to get humiliated in front of the popular crowd because Jake's mom signed me up for some weekend league. Thanks, Mrs. Henderson. Really.

The uniform: bright pink shorts that made me look like a human highlighter. Jake rolled in with Luna, his golden retriever, because apparently the dog's anxiety issues mean she can't be left alone for an hour. Meanwhile, Luna's living her best life, getting pets from everyone while I'm standing there mentally calculating how many ways I can embarrass myself today.

Then I saw it—the stray cat that hangs behind the courts. The one everyone calls Ghost. White, scrawny, always watching. My grandpa would say cats see things we don't. Ghost sat on the fence, yellow eyes locked on me like she knew something.

"You ready to get destroyed?" Jake called out, already bouncing the ball. His friends laughed. The kind of laugh that makes your stomach drop.

I gripped my racket. My brain was running on caffeine fumes and regret. But then Ghost meowed—this weird, human-like sound that made everyone pause. And suddenly it clicked: what if I just didn't care? What if I played like the zombie I felt like, swinging wildly, no strategy, just chaos?

So I did. I hit everything. I missed everything. I laughed at my own failures. Jake's crew stared at me like I'd grown a second head, but for the first time all morning, I felt real. Luna started barking at my chaotic energy. Ghost meowed again from the fence like she was approving the vibe.

"You're actually insane," Jake said, but he was kind of smiling?

Afterwards, as I limped to my bike, Ghost jumped down and rubbed against my leg. I petted her, and for once, the zombie feeling was gone. Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom at a padel court in pink shorts while dogs bark and cats judge you to realize: the moment you stop trying to impress people is the moment you actually start living.