Zombie Mode at the Padel Court

Maya dragged herself onto the padel court, feeling like literal zombie trash. The summer social hadn't even started, and she was already operating on three hours of sleep and approximately zero confidence.

"You good, May?" Liam asked, bouncing the ball.

"Yeah. Just zombie mode," she mumbled, pushing her messy hair out of her face. She'd spent forty-five minutes trying to look effortless. Now she just looked like she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards.

The coach paired them up for mixed doubles. Great. Maya, whose hand-eye coordination was currently questionable, paired with Liam, who was basically padel royalty and, inconveniently, extremely good-looking in a way that made her brain malfunction.

First game went about as well as expected. Maya missed the ball. Twice. Her hair escaped its ponytail and flopped into her eyes, effectively blinding her.

"Zombie rise from the grave," someone whispered from the sidelines. Maya's face burned.

"Your hair," Liam said suddenly between points. "You should just—" He made a pulling motion. "Let it down."

"What?"

"You're always hiding behind it." He grinned, all perfect teeth and zero malice. "Let the zombie free."

Something about his tone—not mocking, just genuine—made her actually consider it. Maya pulled the elastic from her hair and shook it out. Wild, frizzy, completely uncontrolled.

"There she is," Liam said, like she'd just accomplished something major instead of just having a bad hair day.

They lost the match. But Maya caught herself laughing mid-game, hair everywhere, zombie makeup smudged from the heat, actually having fun. The fear of judgment she'd been carrying all summer suddenly felt smaller, lighter.

Afterward, Liam handed her a water bottle. "Same time tomorrow?"

"If I survive the night," she said.

"You'll survive." He gestured at her reflection in the court glass—messy hair, zero chill, somehow still standing. "You've got good zombie energy."