Zombie at the Plate

Marcus dragged himself through third period like a actual zombie, thanks to staying up until 3AM scrolling through Maya's Instagram and overthinking every single post. His best friend since elementary school, and suddenly everything felt weird between them.

"Dude, you look dead," Jay whispered, passing him a note. "Baseball practice today. Coach said if you're late again, you're riding the bench."

Marcus groaned. His brain felt like a goldfish bowl—three seconds of focus, then gone. His grandma's actual goldfish had lasted longer than his attention span lately. That fish had survived for five years before meeting its tragic toilet funeral.

Practice was brutal. Coach Martinez—a man built like a brick wall and about as flexible—kept yelling at Marcus to keep his eye on the ball. But honestly? Marcus's eyes were everywhere but the batter's box. Across the field, the drama club was rehearsing, and Maya was there.

"Focus, son!" Coach bellowed, and Marcus realized he'd just let three pitches sail past him. "You're swinging at nothing like you're seeing things that aren't there!"

Then he saw it: Maya, walking toward the baseball fence with some theater kid in a zombie costume. Full face paint, fake blood, the works. In October. They were laughing, and Marcus felt something twist in his chest that had nothing to do with the pulled muscle in his shoulder.

Later, Jay found him sitting in the dugout, staring at his phone like it might magically provide answers.

"You gonna tell me what's actually going on, or do I have to guess?" Jay asked, dropping beside him. "And don't give me that bull about just being tired."

Marcus sighed. "Maya."

"Obviously Maya."

"I think I like her. Like, LIKE-like her. But what if it wrecks everything? What if she doesn't—"

"Bro," Jay interrupted. "She's been rehearsing a zombie flash mob for weeks. That's why she's always with the theater kids. Ask her to help you with your History project. She literally texted me yesterday asking if you needed a partner."

Marcus stared at him. "Seriously?"

"You're such a goldfish sometimes," Jay laughed. "Now get up. Coach is gonna make us run laps if you don't get back on the field."