Zombie at the Plate

Maya dragged herself to third base, feeling like the walking dead. She'd stayed up until 3 AM finishing her history paper—now she was operating on pure caffeine and determination, practically a zombie in cleats.

"You look rough," said Jordan, the team's shortstop and somehow still the most attractive human she'd ever seen, even with sweat dripping down his forehead.

"Rough is an understatement," Maya muttered, wiping her palms on her uniform. "I haven't slept since Thursday."

"Nice hair," Jordan smirked.

Maya's hands flew to her head. Oh god. She'd spent twenty minutes braiding it this morning, but apparently half of it had escaped somewhere between first period and now. She looked like a deranged mermaid. Perfect.

"Thanks," she shot back. "It's called the 'I haven't slept in 48 hours' look. Very chic."

"Coach wants you in the batting cage," Jordan said, gesturing toward the field. "Good luck with the pitch machine."

The pitching machine fired baseballs at her, each one flying toward her like a mini missile. Swing and a miss. Swing and a miss. Her arms felt like lead weights. Her concentration was absolutely shot.

Between rounds, she grabbed her water bottle, chugging the lukewarm liquid like it was the elixir of life. Some splashed onto her jersey, joining the collection of dirt and grass stains.

"You're overthinking it," Jordan said, suddenly beside her. "Just swing. Don't aim, don't calculate, don't be perfect. Just swing."

Maya looked at him—really looked at him. His hair was messy too. His uniform was stained. He wasn't perfect either.

"When did you get all philosophical?" she asked.

"When I noticed you're actually pretty good at baseball," he said with a shrug. "You're just too in your head about it. Like, who cares if you mess up? It's just practice."

Just practice. Why did that feel so revolutionary?

The next pitch came. Maya didn't think about her technique or her paper or the fact that Jordan was watching. She just swung.

CRACK.

The ball sailed over the fence.

"Damn," Jordan said, grinning. "Maybe you should stay up all night more often."

Maya finally smiled, the zombie fog lifting just enough. "Yeah, no. I'm sleeping for twelve hours tonight."

"Fair enough." Jordan tossed her the water bottle she'd left on the ground. "Same time tomorrow?"

Maya caught it, feeling something warm in her chest that had nothing to do with the sun. "Yeah. Same time tomorrow."