Zombie Makeup and First Pitches

Maya's hair looked like it had been styled by a particularly angry squirrel. Which, honestly, was fitting for the worst day of her life.

"You look like a zombie," her brother Jay said from the couch, not looking up from his phone. "A very unfortunate zombie."

"Thanks, Jay. Really helpful." She pulled a **baseball** cap low over her head, the frizzy disaster disappearing beneath the brim. The cap belonged to her ex-boyfriend—stolen, borrowed, whatever—and she was still wearing it three weeks after he'd ghosted her like a coward.

Her mom called from the kitchen. "Maya! Grab the sunscreen! We're going to the beach!"

The beach meant **palm** trees and tourists and the specific kind of California sunshine that made everything feel like a movie. Except Maya's life wasn't a movie. It was more like those terrible low-budget horror films where everyone makes predictably bad decisions and somehow the zombie apocalypse happens because someone couldn't just stay inside.

At the beach, she sat alone on her towel while her siblings played in the waves. That's when she saw him—Ethan, from her history class, standing near the **palm** trees, wearing a baseball jersey that looked way too good on him.

Her heart did that stupid fluttery thing. The same stupid fluttery thing that had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

He caught her looking. Started walking over.

Maya's brain short-circuited. She had two options: pretend to be deeply interested in a seagull, or

"Hey, Maya." Ethan stood there, all golden and effortless, like he hadn't literally seen her cry in the bathroom last week when that *other* guy sent that text. "Nice cap."

"It's not mine," she said automatically. Because it wasn't. Not really.

"I know." He shifted his weight. "So, I was wondering... if you're not doing anything, want to grab food? There's this taco place—"

"Maya!" Her little sister came running up, covered in sand and joy. "Come play! Mom says you're being all mopey again!"

Ethan laughed. A real laugh. "Mopey? Really?"

Maya's face burned. She yanked off the cap, letting her ridiculous hair explode in all its unmanageable glory.

"You know what? Yes. I'm being mopey." She met Ethan's eyes, something defiant and unfamiliar rising in her chest. "And my hair looks terrible, and I'm wearing some jerk's baseball cap, and I haven't felt like a real person in weeks. I've been walking around like a **zombie**, just waiting for someone to tell me what happens next."

The wind caught her hair. It was a disaster. She was a disaster.

Ethan smiled. Actually smiled. "Good. Zombies are boring."

He held out his hand. **Palm** open. Waiting.

"So. Tacos? Or you gonna keep standing there looking like you're about to fight the ocean?"

Maya took his hand. The sand stuck to her fingers. Her hair was still a mess. The ex-boyfriend's cap lay forgotten in the sand behind her.

"Tacos," she said. "Definitely tacos."