The Day I Stopped Being a Zombie

I shuffled through the hallways like a **zombie**, my hoodie up, eyes on my scuffed Vans. Sophomore year had turned me into someone who watched life instead of living it. My only real **friend** was Buster, my golden retriever who waited by the door every day, tail thumping like he'd been alone for weeks instead of hours.

"You're coming to the game tonight," Maya stated at lunch, not asked. Maya, who somehow made oversized flannels look intentional. Maya, whose Instagram posts got 200 likes while I was lucky if my dad commented on mine.

"I don't do baseball," I muttered, picking at my tray of sad-looking nachos.

"Exactly. You don't DO anything anymore." She leaned in. "Luke's playing. I've seen you staring at him in AP Bio."

My **palm**s started sweating. Of course she'd noticed.

That night, I found myself squeezed onto the metal bleachers, surrounded by people shouting about innings and strikeouts I didn't understand. The air smelled like sunscreen and popcorn. Luke was on the mound, wiping his forehead with his sleeve, and suddenly I was hyper-aware of everything—my hands, my breath, the way everyone else seemed to know the secret handshake of being alive.

Then the **baseball** came flying into the stands.

People scrambled. Bodies moved. I was frozen, too busy overthinking whether reaching for it would make me look desperate or cool or just weird.

Until Buster—who I'd secretly brought along because the guilt of leaving him alone was real—bounded up the bleachers, snagged the ball in his mouth, and dropped it in my lap with a proud woof.

The entire section went silent. Then someone yelled, "That's the best catch all night!"

Luke turned. Grinned. At me.

Maya was doubled over laughing. "Did you just bring your DOG to a baseball game?"

I sat there, holding a slobbery ball, with my**dog** getting head scratches from three juniors I'd been too scared to talk to all year. And something in my chest shifted.

Maybe being a **zombie** was safe. But maybe, just maybe, having a **dog** who had zero social anxiety and a **friend** who refused to let me hide forever was exactly what I needed to start feeling human again.