The Zombie in the Outfield

Marcus dragged himself to third period, eyes half-lidded, brain swimming in a fog of three hours of Minecraft and five hours of TikTok doom-scrolling. He was a certified zombie, the kind that shuffled through hallways fueled by nothing but caffeine and anxiety.

"You look like actual death, bro," Jake whispered, sliding into the desk next to him. "Big game today. You good?"

Marcus groaned. "My mom's making me take these gross vitamin D gummies because she read somewhere they help with 'teen mood regulation.' I think they're actually making me worse."

"Bruh," Jake laughed. "You literally glow in the dark now. That's a vibe."

The baseball game that afternoon was a nightmare. Marcus stood in right field, sweat trickling down his back, watching clouds drift by while his brain replayed every awkward interaction from lunch. He missed a routine fly ball. Coach Miller yelled something about focus. Marcus's face burned.

That night, he lay awake, phone lighting up his face. Addie had posted a story from the game — everyone looked so alive, so effortlessly cool. Why couldn't he be like that? Why did everything feel so exhausting?

His mom knocked on his door. "Honey, I know you're stressed. Maybe we can skip the vitamins for a few days. You'll feel better."

Something about her voice made him actually cry. Like, ugly cry. She sat on his bed while he poured out everything — the pressure, the FOMO, the way he felt like he was faking his way through every single day.

"You're not a zombie," she said, smoothing his hair. "You're just growing. And it sucks. I promise, it won't always feel like this."

The next morning, Marcus woke up surprisingly okay. No vitamins. No all-nighter. Just breakfast and the realization that maybe, just maybe, everyone else was faking it too.