The Zombie Who Caught Everything

Jax was running on zero hours of sleep—literally zero. Thanks to that stupid zombie apocalypse game he'd been grinding for three days straight, he looked like one of the undead. Dark circles. Messy hair. The vibe was tragic.

"You look like death," Maya said, sliding into the cafeteria seat across from him. "Seriously, are you okay?"

Jax shrugged, trying to play it off. "Just tired. Whatever."

He was SO not whatever. Today was baseball tryouts, and Maya—the actual Maya Chen, who'd barely glanced his direction all year—was finally talking to him, and he looked like a walking corpse. This was fine. Everything was fine.

The fields were already packed when they arrived. Coach Miller blowing his whistle like his life depended on it. The whole social hierarchy on display: varsity jackets, girlfriends in the bleachers with perfect hair, that one sophomore who threw a no-hitter last season living his best life.

"Alright, listen up!" Coach Miller cupped his hands around his mouth. "We're doing outfield drills today. Catch everything that comes your way. Don't embarrass yourselves."

Jax's heart hammered. He wasn't even supposed to be here—he'd only signed up because his dad said it would "build character" or whatever. But now Maya was watching from the fence, holding a Gatorade, and suddenly this mattered.

The first few balls came his way. Easy catches. Whatever. Then Coach Miller called for long flies.

"That's when it happened.

The school's bear mascot—some junior inside that suffocating fur suit—stumbled onto the field, apparently trying to hype up the crowd. But the bear tripped over his own giant feet and crashed right into the water cooler, sending gallons of Gatorade and ice everywhere. The whole field erupted.

Jax couldn't help it. He laughed. Like, actually laughed.

Then Coach Miller screamed, "Simmons! Left field! NOW!"

A ball was soaring toward him—a rocket, practically. Jax's body moved before his brain caught up, all those sleep-deprived gaming hours suddenly paying off. His hands snapped up. Clean catch.

"Nice!" someone shouted.

Another one. Caught.

Another. Caught.

He was running, diving, laughing like an idiot, everything blurry and perfect and completely out of control. The bear mascot was still doing something ridiculous in the background. Maya was watching. And Jax—for once in his life—wasn't thinking about how he looked or what people thought. He was just playing.

After tryouts, Maya handed him a water bottle. "You were actually kind of amazing out there."

Jax wiped sweat from his forehead, grinning like a fool. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Maybe," she said, "but you definitely didn't move like a zombie."

She walked away, and Jax stood there holding his water bottle, thinking maybe sleep deprivation wasn't so bad after all.