Thunder in the Infield

The zombie makeup was itching my face something fierce, but that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that Maya hadn't spoken to me since we got into Jordan's car, and the silence was heavier than the humidity hanging over the baseball field.

"You good?" I asked, trying to sound chill instead of desperate.

Maya adjusted her green foundation, avoiding eye contact. "All good. Just thinking about how I'm literally gonna fail chem tomorrow if I don't study."

Right. Because that's what we were doing now—making excuses to avoid each other. Three weeks ago, we'd been finishing each other's sentences. Now? We were basically strangers who happened to be walking toward the same charity zombie run with our baseball team.

Coach Miller stood at home plate, clipboard in hand, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. The baseball diamond stretched out behind him, empty and waiting. This was supposed to be team bonding, but honestly? It felt more like team torture.

"Alright zombies," Coach announced, "the fun run starts in twenty. Don't forget: you're supposed to be the undead, not the unathletic. Keep it moving."

A flash of **lightning** split the sky, followed immediately by thunder that shook the metal bleachers.

"Practice is canceled!" someone yelled from right field.

But nobody moved. Because that's when we saw it—a real **bear** cub wandering in from the woods beyond left field, looking confused and very much not belonging at a high school.

Everyone froze. Like, actual statues. The bear cub let out this tiny sound that was somehow both terrifying and pathetic. And then, out of nowhere, Maya's childhood stuffed animal—a **bear** she'd carried everywhere until sixth grade—flashed through my mind. She'd named him Thunder, which was ironic because she'd always been scared of storms.

The next thing I knew, Maya was running toward the cub, waving her arms slowly.

"Maya, NO!" I shouted, sprinting after her. "What are you DOING?"

"It's scared!" she yelled back, not slowing down. "It's gonna run toward the crowd!"

The rain started coming down hard as we both herded the confused cub back toward the trees. We were soaked, our **zombie** makeup running down our faces, probably looking like actual undead creatures. But we were doing it together—moving in sync like we used to on the field, calling out signals, covering each other's blind spots.

When the cub finally disappeared into the woods, we stood there breathing hard, rain plastering our hair to our faces.

Maya turned to me, and for the first time in weeks, she actually smiled. "We're insane."

"Yeah," I laughed. "But lowkey? That was kind of epic."

"Actually," she said, wiping zombie goo from her cheek, "I've been wanting to talk to you. I just... I didn't know how."

"Me neither," I admitted. "But I missed you, Maya. Like, a lot."

"I missed you too," she said softly. "I'm sorry I've been weird. I just thought you were drifting away, and I didn't know how to deal with it, so I just... ghosted before you could."

The rain was coming down harder now, and people were running for cover. But we stood there, zombie makeup dripping, holding the kind of eye contact that says everything without words.

"Wanna get boba after this?" I asked. "My treat."

Maya's grin was real this time. "Bet."

Maybe getting caught in a thunderstorm while herding a bear cub during a charity zombie run wasn't how most people reconnect with their best **friend**. But honestly? It was exactly what we needed.