Zombie Mode

Maya dragged herself through the school hallway, officially operating on zombie mode. Three hours of sleep + AP History test + whatever drama blew up in the group chat last night = a walking dead situation. Her phone buzzed in her pocket—probably another 47-message thread about who liked whose Instagram story. She ignored it.

"Yo, Maya! You coming to padel today?" Jake called from his locker. He had that effortless cool thing down, varsity jacket thrown over one shoulder like he was in a teen drama where everything works out.

"Uh, maybe?" She lied. She'd barely touched a racquet since summer camp when she was twelve, but everyone was doing padel now. It was the new social currency. If you weren't at the courts on Fridays, you basically didn't exist.

Her actual cat, Miso, would judge her so hard. The orange tabby was currently living her best life asleep in a sunbeam at home, zero FOMO, zero social anxiety. Sometimes Maya thought Miso had this whole being alive thing figured out better than any human.

After school, she found herself at the padel courts anyway. The glass walls reflected everyone—popular kids, nerds, theater kids, all mashed together in this weird collision of social groups. Jake waved her over to a court, and suddenly she was holding a racquet, her palms sweating through her grip.

"Don't overthink it," he said, knocking a ball to her. "Just hit the thing."

She missed. The ball sailed past her, hitting the glass with a comical THONK. Someone laughed—but kindly, not meanly. This girl with bleached tips and cropped sweatpants grinned. "First time? I'm Chloe."

Something shifted. Maya stopped worrying about looking dumb and just started hitting balls. Her form was terrible, her serves went wild, but she was actually having fun. Not fake Instagram-story fun, but actual, uncool fun.

By sunset, her arms burned and she'd made actual conversation with three new people. No gossip, no performing, just stupid jokes about how they all played like zombies before caffeine.

"Same time next week?" Chloe asked.

"Yeah," Maya said, and meant it. Walking home, she spotted Miso in the window, probably judging her epic bedhead and sweat-stained shirt. The cat blinked slowly, unimpressed.

Whatever. Maya felt weirdly alive for the first time in weeks. Being a zombie was overrated anyway.