The Last Real Thing

I was deep in zombie mode—scrolling TikTok at 2 AM, my iphone burning against my palm like always—when Maya's text popped up: "Emergency. Need you. Baseball diamond. Now."

Maya. The friend who'd ghosted me three weeks ago for the varsity crowd.

I grabbed my hoodie and slipped out, sneakers crunching on gravel. The diamond's floodlights cut through fog like something from a movie. Maya stood on the pitcher's mound, spinning a baseball in one hand, her phone glowing in the other.

"You're literally stalking my location now?" I said, leaning against the backstop.

"I deleted the app," she said. "After prom. After..." Her voice cracked. She threw the ball—wild, high. It smacked the fence with a clang that echoed.

"You've been acting like a zombie," I said. "Like, literally dead-eyed through homeroom."

"The thing is..." She kicked at the dirt. "I came out to the team tonight. And they all just—like, their faces went blank. Like I was speaking zombie."

I walked onto the field. The air smelled like cut grass and something metallic. "What'd they say?"

"Nothing. That's the thing. Not one word." She tossed me the ball. "Remember last summer? When we found this place and stayed till 4 AM?"

We'd talked about everything—her crush on Jordan, my fear that I'd never figure myself out. The diamond felt huge then, like the whole world was open.

"I remember," I said.

"So catch." She wound up and pitched.

I caught it—hard, stinging my palm. Real.

"If I'm a zombie," she said, "then at least I'm finally one that's awake." She looked at her phone, then at me. "Delete TikTok with me. Right now. Let's be zombies together—I mean, actually present."

We deleted everything. Stood there while notifications stacked up like ghosts. Then we played catch under the lights until dawn, my arm aching, her laugh cutting through the quiet like the ball hitting the mitt—sharp and sure and absolutely real.

For once, I didn't feel like walking dead at all.