The Friday Night I Woke Up

I felt like a literal zombie walking into school that Monday. Third consecutive all-nighter will do that to you. My eyes burned, my brain felt like mush, and I'm pretty sure I was groaning instead of speaking actual words during homeroom.

"You good, man?" Carlos asked as I slumped against his locker. He was already decked out in his padel gear, eyeing me with that mix of concern and judgment friends do so well.

"Yeah, just surviving," I mumbled, which was maybe half-true. Between AP classes crushing my soul and my parents' new "healthy lifestyle phase" forcing spinach down my throat three times a day, I was running on fumes and resentment.

The padel courts after school were supposed to be my escape. But there I was, swinging at the air while Carlos and Mia destroyed me 6-0, 6-1. The one point I got? Pure pity. Even worse, I kept checking my phone every thirty seconds because our WiFi had died that morning and I was waiting to hear if I'd made varsity. The cable company swore they'd fix it "any minute now" which we all know is corporate speak for "eventually, maybe."

"What is your deal today?" Mia asked after she aced me for the third time. "You're playing like you've never seen a ball before."

I wanted to snap that I'd been up all night stressing about everything — varsity tryouts, my GPA tanking, the fact that my mom had served spinach smoothies with breakfast that morning like it was a normal thing humans consumed. But what came out was, "I'm just tired."

That's when I saw him — my golden retriever, Buster, trotting along the fence line outside the courts. My dad must've brought him for a walk and forgotten to latch the gate again. Buster was my actual best friend, the only living thing who didn't expect anything from me except the occasional belly rub.

I abandoned the game right there. Carlos called my name but I kept walking, letting myself out the side gate. Buster's whole body wagged when he saw me, like I was the best thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life. He jumped up, muddy paws on my jersey, and I didn't even care.

We sat on the grass while the padel game continued without me. Buster flopped across my legs, heavy and warm and perfect. I realized something sitting there with him: I'd been moving through my life like a zombie, just showing up for things but not actually being there. Scrolling through my phone during family dinners, half-listening to friends while worrying about the next thing, eating spinach without tasting it because I was too busy checking my grades online.

"You okay out here?" Carlos asked, finding me later. The sun was setting behind the courts, painting everything gold.

"Yeah," I said, and it wasn't a lie this time. "I think I finally woke up."

That night, I ate my mom's spinach casserole. I actually tasted it. I texted Mia and Carlos a real message instead of just liking their posts. I even called the cable company and had an actual conversation with a human being instead of just angrily clicking through automated menus.

And when I finally got the email — I'd made varsity — I didn't just screenshot it and obsessively check my phone. I told Buster first. He just licked my face, which was honestly the best reaction I could've asked for.