The Summer I Woke Up

Sixteen-year-old Ash felt like a zombie going through the motions of life. Wake up, school, practice, repeat. Their latest torture? Padel lessons three times a week because apparently, that's what all the 'well-rounded' college applicants did now.

"Your backhand, Ash," Coach Martinez sighed, as Ash stood on the court, brain fogged from another night of studying until 2 AM. "You're playing like you're asleep."

If only he knew.

That's when it happened—a strange dog wandered onto the padel courts. Not some groomed Golden Retriever from the suburbs, but a scrawny, mysterious-looking creature with matted fur and one ear that wouldn't stand up.

"Security!" someone yelled, as if the dog was some kind of threat.

But Ash saw something in those eyes. Not aggression. Recognition.

"It's cool," Ash found themselves saying, stepping away from the padel game. "I got this."

They led the dog to the shaded area behind the courts, sharing their Cliff bar. The creature ate warily, then looked at Ash with what seemed like gratitude.

"You look like you haven't slept in days either," Ash whispered.

That summer changed everything. Ash named the dog Zombie because they were both just trying to survive, and started skipping pointless padel matches to hang with their new best friend behind the community center. They learned more from that dog—about loyalty, about reading body language, about what it means to actually be alive—than from any AP class or forced extracurricular.

By fall, Ash wasn't the same person who'd moved through life like the walking dead. They'd quit the competitive padel league, kept visiting Zombie (who'd turned out to be someone's lost pet, now reunited), and most importantly—started actually living instead of just surviving.

Sometimes you have to feel like a zombie to remember you're human.