Zombie Mascot, Lucky Hat

Jordan's neck clicked as he rotated his head, side to side. Three hours of sleep tended to do that to a person. He felt like a complete zombie shuffling through the school hallway, his backpack dragging behind him like it was filled with actual bricks instead of AP Chemistry homework.

"You okay, man?" asked Tyler, slapping him on the back. "You look dead."

"Living the dream," Jordan mumbled, adjusting the snapback on his head. The hat was his older brother's—faded, slightly too big, and weirdly lucky. Or maybe just cursed, considering how today was going.

Today was the day. The day Jordan finally worked up the courage to ask Maya to homecoming. He'd been planning it for weeks, rehearsing in his mirror until his little sister started videotaping him for TikTok. Maya was cool—like, actually cool, not performative cool. She drew comics in the margins of her math homework and listened to vinyl records and didn't seem to care what anyone thought.

But first, he had to survive the football game assembly.

"Jordan!" Mr. Henderson barked across the gym. "You're up!"

Jordan froze. The student mascot had called in sick, and apparently Jordan's name had been pulled from the hat. Literally. Mr. Henderson was holding a beat-up baseball cap full of names.

"But I—"

"Bull," someone whispered behind him. "No way he's doing it."

"Bullcrap," Mr. Henderson corrected, though the teacher version was somehow worse. "Get your butt in that costume, son. School spirit waits for no one."

Five minutes later, Jordan was sweating inside a thirty-pound polyester bull head. He could barely see through the mesh eyeholes. He stumbled onto the gym floor, and then—the worst possible thing happened.

He tripped.

The bull head went rolling across the basketball court. The entire gym erupted. Jordan's face burned hotter than the sun. He scrambled after the head, his vision swimming with humiliation.

And then—someone was helping him up. A girl with messy braids and paint on her jeans.

"You okay, Zombie Bull?" Maya asked, grinning.

Jordan stared. She was joking WITH him, not AT him. Something shifted inside his chest—lighter, warmer.

"Yeah," he said, suddenly not tired at all. "Yeah, I think I am."