The Zombie Apocalypse is Just Tuesday

Maya dragged herself through the cafeteria, feeling like a certified zombie. Third period AP Calc had a way of doing that to a person. Her messy bun was already falling apart, stray hairs escaping like they were planning their own rebellion.

"Yo, May! Baseball tryouts today!" Jake shouted from across the room, his voice cutting through the lunchtime chaos.

Maya's stomach did that thing it always did when Jake talked to her — a weird mix of excitement and pure panic. She'd been crushing on him since September, when he'd let her borrow his extra jersey after she spilled chocolate milk all over her white shirt.

"Yeah, maybe," she called back, immediately regretting it. She didn't even like baseball. But she also wasn't about to admit that to Jake, who looked like he'd walked straight out of a sports catalog.

Her best friend Priya slid into the seat beside her. "You just agreed to baseball tryouts? You? The girl who runs away from flying objects?"

"I don't know! He just looked at me and my brain short-circuited!" Maya buried her face in her hands. "Plus, my hair looks like a bird's nest today. I can't be seen at tryouts like this."

Priya snorted. "Oh no, your hair isn't perfect. Whatever shall we do? It's not like you're the only girl who's ever had a bad hair day."

But Maya was already spiraling. The social hierarchy of sophomore year was brutal enough without showing up to baseball tryouts looking like she'd just rolled out of bed after pulling an all-nighter.

By 3:15, she was standing on the field with thirty other hopefuls, her sneakers sinking into the dirt. Coach Rodriguez blew his whistle, and suddenly it was her turn to bat. Jake was watching from the outfield, and she could feel his eyes on her.

The first pitch came flying toward her. Maya swung the bat and missed completely, spinning around like a confused ballerina.

"Zombie mode, am I right?" someone muttered from the bench.

But then something weird happened. The second pitch came, and this time Maya's bat connected with a satisfying *crack*. The ball sailed into the outfield, and she took off running, her legs pumping, her hair finally breaking free from its messy bun and streaming behind her like a victory flag.

She made it to first base, chest heaving, and looked up to find Jake grinning at her. He gave her a thumbs-up.

"Not bad for a zombie," he called out.

Maya smiled back, feeling surprisingly alive for someone who'd been dead tired all day. Maybe baseball wasn't so terrible. Maybe she didn't need to be perfect. And maybe, just maybe, Jake was worth the occasional embarrassing moment.

Her hair could wait. She had a game to play.