Zombie Mode at the Plate

I was running on three hours of sleep and a vanilla latte, basically functioning in full zombie mode. Sixth period PE — baseball unit, because apparently freshman year isn't embarrassing enough without watching me fail at sports in front of everyone.

"Harrison, you're up!" Coach Miller yelled, clapping his hands like this was the MLB playoffs and not third-period gym class.

I grabbed the bat, my brain foggy like I'd been scrolling TikTok until 3 AM (which I absolutely had). The infield chatter was brutal: "Don't choke, Harrison!" "Watch it fly... into the parking lot!"

Classic Tyler. He'd been on my case since middle school, like he had a personal vendetta against my entire existence.

The pitcher wound up — okay, threw the ball with zero form but maximum aggression. I swung. Missed. The ball hit the backstop with a pathetic clang.

"Bruh, you call that a swing?" Tyler called from the outfield. "My grandma hits harder than you, and she literally uses a cane."

Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Maybe it was the months of Tyler's bs. Maybe it was just that I was done.

"Tyler," I said, turning toward the outfield. "You're literally sitting in the grass during an active game. We're playing gym baseball, not the World Series. Save the energy."

The whole field went dead silent.

"What?" Tyler stood up, looking around like he was checking if anyone else heard me.

"I said you're being a jerk for no reason," I continued, voice steady. "It's gym class. We're all just trying to get through it without looking stupid. You don't have to make it harder for everyone."

Coach Miller blew his whistle. "Alright, alright, everyone cool it. Harrison, good stance. Next batter."

As I walked back to the dugout, Maya gave me a fist bump. "Finally," she whispered. "Someone said it."

My hands were shaking but I felt electric. I'd stood up to Tyler — actual Tyler, the guy who made middle school miserable. I felt less zombie, more... alive.

That night I actually went to sleep at 10 PM. Being exhausted wasn't a flex, I realized. Neither was letting people walk all over me. Some bull you just have to call out, even if your voice shakes. Even if you're in gym class holding a baseball bat you can barely swing. Growth looks messy sometimes.