The Bullpen Zombie

I'd been running on zombie mode for three days straight. Between finals week and the district baseball tournament, my brain was basically mush. The fact that I was currently hiding in the concession stand bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, was peak pathetic.

"You good in there?" my best friend Riley called through the door. "Varsity game starts in ten."

"Give me a sec," I lied, splashing water on my face. I'd accidentally gotten spinach stuck in my teeth at lunch, and naturally, I'd spent the entire afternoon smiling with my mouth closed like a weirdo. Now I was obsessively checking, convinced everyone could see the green remnants.

When I finally emerged, the bleachers were packed. Our team was playing their rivals, and somehow I'd gotten roped into working the concession stand as "community service" for that whole accidentally-setting-off-the-fire-alarm incident.

The whole night felt like a fever dream. I was moving on autopilot, handing over nachos and cold sodas with zero personality. That's when Tyler Miller walked up.

Tyler. The guy I'd had a crush on since seventh grade. The one who actually knew my name.

"Hey, Jordan," he said, all easy confidence and perfect hair. "Can I get—"

But then chaos erupted. Some freshman had accidentally let loose the school mascot—a huge, terrifying bull that was supposed to be chained to the fence but was now sprinting toward the concession stand.

"BULL!" someone screamed.

The entire stampede of students knocked over the condiment station. Ketchup and mustard exploded everywhere. I slipped in the mess, falling hard as the bull charged past, its hooves thundering against the asphalt.

A hand grabbed mine. Tyler, pulling me up and behind the counter. We huddled there as chaos erupted outside—people shouting, the bull eventually being wrangled by coaches, someone's phone recording the whole thing.

"Are you okay?" Tyler asked, genuinely concerned.

I looked at him. At the ketchup on his jersey. At my probably still-spinach-filled teeth. And I started laughing. Couldn't stop. The absurdity of it all—me, a zombie mess; a literal bull running loose through the baseball field; Tyler Miller holding my hand like he actually cared.

"What's so funny?" he asked, but then he smiled too.

"Everything," I said. "This is officially the weirdest night of my life."

"Yeah," he said, not letting go of my hand. "But the good kind of weird."

Maybe being a zombie wasn't so bad if it led to moments like this. Sometimes the best things happen when you're too tired to overthink them.