Zombie Bear Baseball Apocalypse

The orange peel hit my forehead with a wet thwack. Tyler laughed so hard he almost dropped his phone, while I sat there dying inside. Again.

"Dude, you're such a zombie," Tyler said, wiping tears from his eyes. "You've been awake for, what, twenty minutes?"

Twenty-two, actually. I'd stayed up until 3 AM finishing that history project about the California Gold Rush, because apparently that's what my life has become – a never-ending cycle of deadlines and exhaustion.

The baseball game on the field below wasn't helping. Our team was getting crushed, and Coach Miller's face was turning the color of a ripe tomato. I'd been supposed to start today – first game as varsity pitcher – but my arm had been hurting all week, and now I was stuck watching from the stands, wearing my lucky baseball hat pulled low like I could just disappear.

"Whatever." I nudged Tyler's leg. "Pass me another orange slice."

"You and your weird pre-game ritual." He tossed me a piece. "Where'd you even get that whole orange? The concession stand basically sells cancer in a bun."

"My mom packed it." I caught the slice, déjà vu hitting me hard. Last year, she'd packed the same orange slices for my sister's softball games. Before she got sick. Before everything changed.

A roar erupted from the crowd. Someone shouted, "BEAR!"

I thought it was a joke – another stupid mascot thing – but then I saw it. An actual black bear, ambling out of the woods behind left field. Like it was totally normal. Like it just wanted to catch the bottom of the seventh.

Chaos erupted. People screamed, phones came out, and suddenly the baseball game didn't matter. The bear paused, looked around like it was evaluating the social situation, then ambled toward the concessions.

"Is this actually happening?" Tyler asked, already recording.

Something shifted inside me – maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was just that I was too tired to overthink anymore. But I stood up, adjusted my hat, and started yelling directions, helping people move away calmly. I saw the bear circle around the back, avoiding the crowd, headed toward the parking lot where my family always kept those emergency oranges in the cooler.

Later, after animal control safely redirected it back to the woods, Coach Miller found me.

"Good job out there, kid." He nodded at my hat. "Stay sharp. We're gonna need you next week."

For the first time all day, I didn't feel like a zombie anymore. I felt awake.

"Yeah," I said, tossing the last orange slice into the trash. "I will."