The Zombie Summer Rules

I felt like a zombie walking into Jordan's block party. Finals week had turned my brain into mush, but Maya dragged me along anyway, claiming I needed to "live a little."

"You look dead," she said, handing me a spinach dip chip. "Eat this. It'll help."

I took it, trying to appear alive. The neighborhood baseball game was already underway—Jordan's older brother Jake was pitching, looking unfairly hot in his cutoff shirt. I'd been lowkey crushing on him since seventh grade, when he helped me find my cat after she escaped during their Fourth of July party.

Speaking of cats, mine was currently losing her mind at home. We'd adopted a goldfish last week, and Snowball had developed an obsession. She'd sit by the bowl for hours, plotting murder like a furry, furry little serial killer.

"You're staring again," Maya whispered.

"I'm not."

"You so are. Go talk to him."

I shook my head. Too risky. Last time I'd tried flirting, I'd spent the whole conversation with a piece of spinach in my teeth. Nobody had told me until I got home. The mortification still kept me up at night.

Then Jake looked over and smiled.

My heart did this stupid little flip thing.

"Hey!" he called, jogging over. "You gonna play? We need someone in outfield."

"I—"

"She's in!" Maya shoved me forward.

Jake tossed me a glove. His fingers brushed mine—warm, calloused, perfect. Don't freak out, I told myself. Do NOT freak out.

So I played baseball with my crush while feeling like a zombie, all while worrying that my cat was probably terrorizing my poor fish back home. And somewhere between Jake's congratulatory high-five after I caught a pop fly and us sitting on the curb sharing bubblegum afterward, I realized something:

Living a little wasn't about being perfect or smooth or having your life together. It was about showing up anyway—spinach teeth, zombie brain, chaotic pets and all.

"Same time next week?" Jake asked.

"Yeah," I said, actually smiling. "Same time.".