The Zombie Bear Pitch

Maya's hands were literally shaking as she stood on the mound, sweat making her grip on the ball slippery. Varsity baseball tryouts, junior year, and Coach Miller watching like a hawk. She'd already thrown three straight balls, and the senior lineup was exchanging those looks—that silent communication that said, she's not ready.

"You good, rookie?" Tyler called from the plate, tapping his bat. He was the kind of cute that made you forget your own name.

Maya's baseball cap slid forward as she nodded. She'd spent forty-five minutes perfecting her hair that morning—sleek, natural curls, none of that frizz that screamed she'd rolled out of bed and thrown on whatever. But now, under this brutal afternoon sun, she could feel it escaping. Whatever. Hair was hair.

Her lucky hat was another story. It had been her grandfather's—faded blue, sweat-stained, and somehow possessing magical properties. Until today, when she'd left it on the bus. This backup hat felt wrong, like wearing someone else's skin.

Zombie mode: that's what Maya called it when anxiety took over. Her brain went offline, body moved on autopilot, and she watched herself from somewhere far away. Not helpful when you needed to throw a strike.

The bear incident at summer camp flashed through her mind—everyone laughing when she'd frozen, face-to-face with an actual bear (okay, a baby bear, but STILL), while her crush Diego had totally kept his cool. "You looked like you saw a ghost," he'd said later, smiling in that way that made her stomach do weird things.

"Focus," she muttered. "Just throw the ball."

Tyler waggled his bat. "Whenever you're ready."

Zombie Maya stepped forward, arm snapping through the motion she'd practiced a thousand times. The ball left her hand—and everything went quiet. It dropped, curved, and

*THWACK*

Tyler's bat connected solid, sending a line drive straight into center field.

Maya blinked. Zombie mode had actually thrown a strike.

"Whoa," Tyler said, jogging to first. "Nice pitch, seriously. That curve? Nasty."

The seniors' looks changed. Coach Miller nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard.

As Maya walked off the field, hand still tingling from the throw, her fingers brushed against something in her pocket—her lucky hat, wedged there the whole time. She'd never even needed it.

"Hey, Maya!" Tyler called. "We're getting pizza after. You coming?"

She turned, grinning so hard her face hurt. "Wouldn't miss it."

Her hair was definitely a mess. Her hands were still shaking. But for the first time all season, Maya didn't feel like a zombie at all.