Zombie at the Plate

Marcus felt like a straight-up zombie as he trudged toward the community pool, his baseball gear dragging behind him like dead weight. Two hours of Coach Miller's "extra conditioning" would do that to you. His phone buzzed in his pocket — probably the team group chat blowing up about Jessica's party. The one he'd been lowkey stressing about for weeks.

The pool scene was already lit when he arrived. Seniors lounging on deck chairs, freshman trying way too hard to be chill, and Jessica — looking effortlessly perfect in that swimsuit that made Marcus's brain short-circuit every time.

"Yo, Marcus! Finally!" Derek called, tossing him a foam baseball. "Pool pong tournament. You and me versus Jessica and Sam."

Marcus's stomach did that thing it always did when Jessica looked at him. "I'm dead, bro. Coach literally worked us to death today."

"That's just the zombie talking," Derek grinned. "Don't be boring, man. Jessica's waiting."

And there it was — the real reason he'd come. Jessica, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the pool, smiling at him like she'd been saving that smile specifically for when he showed up. Marcus's exhausted brain scrambled for something cool to say, something that wouldn't make him look like the awkward freshman he still felt like inside, even if he was varsity now.

"I'll play," he heard himself saying, "but only 'cause you guys need the handicap."

Jessica laughed. "Confident. I like that."

The game was ridiculous — splashing water everywhere, Derek screaming every time he made a shot, Marcus's exhaustion somehow evaporating as he and Jessica kept making eye contact across the pool table. When she high-fived him after their team won, her hand lingered on his for just a second longer than necessary.

"Nice hands, baseball boy," she whispered.

Marcus walked home feeling the opposite of a zombie. Whatever Coach Miller put him through tomorrow, tonight had been completely worth it.