Zombie Mode
Marcus moved through the hallway like a zombie—hoodie up, headphones in, eyes half-lidded. Three hours of sleep will do that to you. Or maybe it was just the soul-crushing reality of being the new kid two months into sophomore year.
His phone buzzed. FaceTime from Mom. Again.
"Did you feed Fin?" she'd asked for the third time today.
"Yes, Mom. The goldfish is fed. I'm alive. School's fine." He'd zombied through that conversation too.
Marcus was running on autopilot—running from conversations, running from the cafeteria at lunch, running toward the exit as soon as the final bell rang. Survival strategy: don't get noticed, don't get attached, don't get hurt again.
Then he saw the flyer on the gym bulletin board. PADEL CLUB. Tryouts Friday.
His sister Maya had been obsessed with padel since their family vacation to Spain last summer. She'd made him play for hours on the hotel court, laughing at his terrible backhand. Now she was away at college, and Marcus was alone in a house that echoed.
Friday found him standing on the court, racket gripping his sweaty palm. Across the net stood Priya—captain of the debate team, wearer of oversized hoodies, carrier of the same zombie energy he'd been rocking all semester.
"You any good?" she asked, smacking a ball against her racket.
"My sister made me play all summer," Marcus admitted. "I'm running on trauma and muscle memory."
Priya laughed. Actually laughed. "Same. My dad thinks padel is essential life experience."
Something shifted. They played for an hour, terrible backhands and all. They talked about goldfish funerals and parents who didn't get it and the exhausting performance of being fine all the time.
"You know," Priya said, as they grabbed lemonades from the vending machine, "you don't have to keep running."
Marcus looked at her—really looked. For the first time in months, he didn't feel like a zombie.
"Yeah," he said. "I think I'm done with that."
His phone buzzed. Mom. He smiled and answered. "Hey Mom. You're not gonna believe who I met at padel club."