Zombie Dreamer in the Dugout

The baseball smacked into my glove with that satisfying *thwump* that echoed across the empty field. Practice had ended twenty minutes ago, but I stayed. Like always.

"You're still here, zombie," Chloe called out, leaning against the chain-link fence. She'd started calling me that freshman year when I fell asleep in math class three days straight. Now? It was basically a term of endearment.

"Just one more bucket," I said, gesturing to the remaining balls.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting everything in this weird orange glow that made the whole world look like it was on fire. My golden retriever, Buster, waited patiently by the dugout, tail thumping against the metal bench like a metronome.

Chloe hopped the fence and sat next to me in the dirt. "Coach says you've got a shot at varsity this year."

"Yeah, maybe." I pulled my knees to my chest. "If I don't choke like I did last season."

"You didn't choke. You were bearing the weight of, like, your entire existence." She nudged my shoulder. "First breakup will do that to you."

I laughed, but it came out hollow. Everyone thought the breakup with Maya had destroyed me. Truth? I barely thought about her anymore. The real problem was everything else—the pressure to be someone I wasn't, the fake conversations, the way my stomach twisted every time someone asked what college I was considering.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm sleepwalking through my own life," I admitted, the words falling out before I could catch them.

Chloe went quiet. Then she said, "That's why I like hanging out with you. You don't perform."

Buster trotted over and rested his head on my knee, his golden eyes earnest and demanding nothing.

"You know what's funny?" Chloe said. "We're all just pretending we know what we're doing. Even the kids who look like they have it all figured out? They're just better actors."

I looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time. Her mask had slipped too, just for a second. The weight in her eyes matched mine.

"Wanna hit a few?" I asked, grabbing a bat.

"I suck at baseball."

"Perfect. Me too."

As the orange sky faded to purple and the first stars pricked through, Chloe swung and missed, then laughed—this genuine, unselfconscious sound that made something in my chest loosen.

Maybe I wasn't the only one tired of pretending.

Maybe I didn't have to be.