The Morning I Almost Became a Zombie

Six AM and my hair looked like a birds nest. Three inches gone in sixty seconds because Maya bet me I wouldn't. Freshman year bravery, right?

Now I'm a zombie, shuffling through first period with my brain half-functioning. Mr. Harrison's droning about something I'd care about if I wasn't running on three hours of sleep and one bad decision.

"Dude, you look dead," Leo whispers, sliding into the seat next to me. His padel racket is leaning against his backpack like he's ready to bolt to practice the second the bell rings.

"Thanks, captain obvious," I mutter. "Your hair looks amazing today too, by the way."

He laughs. "Touché. You coming to the game? We crush Sequoia High today."

I should say no. I should go home and sleep until my dignity returns. But Leo's been begging me to come to a padel match all semester, and honestly, anything is better than sitting at home overthinking my hair situation.

The Sequoia High mascot is a bull. Not just any bull—a six-foot foam monstrosity with anger issues and surprisingly good basketball skills. The Sequoia Bull stands courtside, staring down our team like it's choosing which one of us to trample first.

And then something weird happens. The Bull starts dancing. Not a mascot dance—like, actual TikTok choreography. The entire gym goes silent. Our team stops playing. Even Leo freezes mid-serve.

The Bull does the Renegade. Then the Woah. Then some move I've only seen on my For You page at 2 AM when I'm avoiding homework.

Someone yells, "GET IT, BULL!" and the gym ERUPTS.

I start laughing. Like, actually laughing. The Sequoia Bull winks at me. I know it's winking because foam mascots definitely don't have facial expressions, but I swear.

Leo scores the winning point while everyone's distracted by the dancing bull. The team rushes the court. People are screaming. I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe.

"You came," Leo says afterward, sweat dripping down his forehead. His hair is plastered to his face and he's never looked happier.

"Yeah," I say. "I think I'm done being a zombie."

My hair's still a disaster. I'm still exhausted. But somehow, watching a foam bull bust out TikTok dances in a high school gym makes everything feel less terrible.

Some days you're the zombie. Some days you're the bull. And sometimes, you're just a tired freshman with bad hair who needed to laugh until it hurt.