The Zombie First Date

Maya's palms were sweating so much she could barely grip her phone. Three screens deep into Liam's Instagram, trying to find something—anything—to message him about besides the fact that he'd casually suggested they hang out after school tomorrow.

"You good?" Her best friend Sasha flopped onto Maya's bed. "You've been staring at his profile for twenty minutes. It's getting creepy."

"I don't know what to say!" Maya groaned. "He said 'we should chill' and I said 'yeah totally' and now I have no plan. I'm going to look like a zombie tomorrow from overthinking this."

"Zombie?" Sasha perked up. "That's it! Invite him over for a zombie movie marathon. Your parents got that premium cable package last week, right?"

Maya's stomach dropped. "The cable's been glitching since they installed it. It froze twice during Grey's Anatomy yesterday."

"So it'll be perfect," Sasha shrugged. "If it cuts out, you guys can actually talk instead of awkwardly staring at a screen for four hours. Trust me, I'm basically a relationship expert now that Jake and I have been together for three weeks."

The next day, Maya paced her living room so much she thought she might wear a path in the carpet. When the doorbell rang, she practically sprinted, then composed herself, then opened it like a normal human being.

Liam stood there in a baseball cap, holding a bag of chips like it was a peace offering. "Hey."

"Hey." Her palms were sweating again. "Come in."

They sat on the couch, shoulders barely touching, while Maya fumbled with the remote. The cable menu loaded with agonizing slowness, and she could feel Liam watching her.

"So," he said, "you like zombie stuff?"

"Yeah. I mean, kind of. My friend suggested it." Why did she say that? Now she sounded like she couldn't make decisions. "But yeah, zombies are cool. The apocalypse, survival skills, all that."

"I play baseball," Liam said suddenly. Maya turned to find him grinning. "Sorry, that was random. I just don't know what you're into, so I'm just listing things about me."

Maya laughed, and the tension in her chest loosened. "I like baseball. Actually, my cousin plays."

"No way." He leaned forward. "What position?"

They talked for twenty minutes about baseball, school, and the weird zombie movie selection on demand, before Maya even tried to start the movie. When she finally pressed play, the cable flickered, froze, and died.

Maya's face burned. "I'm so sorry, it does this all the time—"

"Honestly?" Liam set down the remote. "This is better. We can actually talk."

Later, when he left, Maya collapsed onto the couch, phone in hand. Sasha had sent fourteen texts demanding updates.

Maya typed: He plays baseball. The cable broke. It was perfect.