When Zombies Forget How to Play Padel

Maya hadn't been herself since the incident. She moved through junior year like a zombie — hollowed-out eyes, monotone responses, barely acknowledging my texts. We used to be inseparable, but now she sat at the back of AP Bio, staring at nothing.

"Dude, you need to get out of your head," I told her, shoving a padel racket into her locker. "Friday. Courts. 4 PM. Non-negotiable."

She looked at me like I'd suggested we rob a bank. "I hate you."

"Love you too, bestie."

The truth was, I was worried. The 'incident' had been brutal — her crush Carlos had asked someone else to homecoming right in front of everyone. She'd cried in the bathroom for three periods while I awkwardly patted her back and offered conspiracy theories about how he'd obviously been brainwashed by the popular kids.

At the courts, I pulled out my peace offering: papaya chunks with lime and chili. "Your mom told me you used to eat this in Ecuador before you moved here."

Maya stared. "How do you know that?"

"I did research. Being the world's best friend is a full-time job."

She laughed — actually laughed, first time in weeks — and tried a piece. Her face softened. "It tastes like summers with my abuela."

"Good. Now hit the ball."

We played padel terribly, both of us rusty and giggling at each other's failed serves. The glass walls echoed with our voices. Maya's shoulders dropped. The zombie fog lifted, just enough.

"I think Carlos is dating Sarah now," she said between points. "I saw them at lunch."

"Sarah whose hair always looks perfect?" I made a gagging noise. "Terrible taste. Honestly, Maya, we dodged a bullet."

"You're just saying that."

"I'm your friend. It's literally in the job description to hate your exes."

She smiled, really smiled this time. "Thanks. For the papaya. And for forcing me to come here."

"That's what best friends are for. Also, you still owe me five bucks from when I bought your lunch last Tuesday."

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope. Now serve the ball, zombie."

Maya threw a piece of papaya at my head. I dodged, laughing. The sun was setting, and for the first time in forever, I felt like I had my friend back. Not fully healed — Carlos had left scars — but present. Alive. The zombie days were over, and we had padel racket bruises and sticky papaya fingers to prove it.