The Zombie on the Mound

Marcus felt like a **zombie** as he dragged himself onto the baseball field. Three hours of sleep would do that to you — especially when you spent those three hours doomscrolling through your ex's Instagram stories. The sky was that bruised purple color of 6:30 AM, and Coach Miller was already screaming something about "early bird practices" and "championship dreams."

He clutched his **iphone** like a lifeline. The screen was cracked — a spiderweb of bad decisions from when he'd dropped it during last week's fight with Jasmine. She'd called him "emotionally unavailable." He'd called her "dramatic." Classic toxic teenager nonsense. Now his thumb hovered over her contact, ready to send the 47th apology text he'd drafted and deleted.

"Batter up!" someone yelled, snapping him back to reality.

His neighbor's golden retriever, Buster, had somehow escaped his yard again and was now trotting onto the field with that joyful **dog** grin that made Marcus want to simultaneously smile and throw something. Buster loved everyone unconditionally. Buster didn't overthink text messages. Buster didn't lie awake at 3 AM wondering if he was good enough for the varsity team, for Jasmine, for anything.

"Hey, zombie boy!" called Riley, the team's catcher and Marcus's secret crush since freshman year. She jogged over, her jersey tucked in, hair in that effortlessly messy ponytail he could never pull off. "You gonna pitch or just stand there looking dead?"

Marcus felt his face heat up. "Just thinking."

"About Jasmine?" Riley raised an eyebrow. "Everyone knows you're still hung up on her. It's pathetic, honestly."

"Wow, thanks."

"I'm kidding." She smiled, and it was different from her usual smirk — softer somehow. "But seriously, maybe stop acting like a zombie and actually live your life? You're missing the good stuff waiting for someone who doesn't appreciate you."

Buster chose that moment to steal the baseball from the mound and bolt toward the parking lot. Coach Miller started yelling. The team erupted in laughter. Marcus stood there, phone in hand, cracked screen catching the morning light.

He pocketed the phone without sending the text.

"I'm going after him," Marcus said, and for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel dead at all.