Zombie Mode at Court Four

I stumbled onto the padel court feeling like a straight-up zombie. Three hours of sleep + summer sports camp + my crush watching from the bleachers = total disaster waiting to happen. My cousin Maria had signed me up, claiming it'd be "low-key social time," but somehow I'd ended up in the advanced group while she ditched for the beginner session with her actual friends.

The ball whizzed past my ear. "Focus, Maya!" Coach Martinez yelled, and I felt my face burn hotter than a thousand suns. Across the net, Jake—the impossibly tall, annoyingly talented Jake who went to my rival school—smirked. I'd been crushing on him since that party last month, and of course NOW was when he'd see me at my absolute worst.

I grabbed my water bottle, hands shaking so hard I nearly dropped it. The liquid tasted like desperation and electrolytes."You good?" Jake asked, suddenly at the net. His basketball jersey was bright orange, the same color as thesports drink that was currently staining my favorite white shirt.

"Peachy," I croaked, sounding like a dying frog. "Just... operating on zombie mode today. No big."

He laughed. Actually laughed, but not in a mean way. "Dude, same. I had to work at my uncle's restaurant until midnight. I'm literally running on fumes and regret."

Something shifted. The air felt lighter, less charged with judgment. We played the next set with abandon instead of anxiety. I even managed to return a serve, though my form was questionable at best. Between points, we discovered we both hated the camp's weird obsession with team spirit chants and both loved that one underground indie band I thought only I listened to.

Later, sitting on the bench during break, Jake tossed me an orange from his backpack. "For energy. You're gonna need it—Coach is making us do conditioning drills next."

I caught it instinctively, then froze. Was this a thing? Was he flirting? My heart did this embarrassing flutter thing that I hoped didn't show on my face.

"Thanks," I said, peeling it slowly. "You're not terrible, you know. At padel. For a basketball guy."

"I'll take that," he grinned. "You're not so bad yourself. For a zombie."

Maybe camp wouldn't be so terrible after all. Sometimes the worst days turn out to be the ones you actually show up for—zombie mode and all.