Zombie Mode at the Plate

The vitamin gummies were supposed to fix everything. At least, that's what Maya's mom had promised when she pressed the bottle into her hand Monday morning, right after Maya had confessed she'd been up until 3 AM every night that week, doom-scrolling through Quinn's Instagram archive. "You need sleep, sweetie. These have melatonin and B12. They'll help."

Now it was Friday, and Maya was standing on the baseball diamond in 87-degree heat, feeling like something that had crawled out of a grave. The sun beat down on her shoulders as she adjusted her oversized jersey—hand-me-down from her cousin, still smelling faintly of fabric softener and weirdly comforting.

"Maya, you're up!" Coach Miller yelled, and her stomach did that thing where it tried to exit her body through her throat.

She stepped into the batter's box, the dirt crunching under her cleats. Sixteen people were watching. Sixteen people, including Quinn, who was sitting on the bleachers with their friends, probably thinking Maya was about to humiliate herself in spectacular fashion.

"You've got this, M!

" yelled Lena from the dugout, which was kind of her, considering Lena was the one who'd talked Maya into trying out for the team in the first place. "Just pretend the ball is that goldfish we won at the carnival!"

Everyone laughed, because they all remembered. The goldfish had lasted exactly three days before Maya had accidentally given it a heart attack by tapping on its bowl too many times while trying to bond with it. Its name had been Boomer, and its funeral had been both heartfelt and extremely awkward.

Maya gripped the bat, her palms sweating. The pitcher wound up and released the ball. It came flying toward her, a white blur against the blue sky.

SWING. And a miss. The ball thudded into the catcher's mitt. Boomer, she thought, and almost smiled.

Second pitch. This time she made contact—a weak little tap that sent the ball dribbling toward third base. She sprinted toward first, her sneakers screaming against the dirt, her heart hammering like it was trying to break out of her chest. Safe. By like, an inch.

"Yeah!" someone shouted. When she looked up, Quinn was cheering. Not fake cheering, either—actual, genuine cheering.

Maya stood on first base, her chest heaving, grinning like an idiot. Maybe those vitamin gummies were working after all. Or maybe she was just done being scared of failing in front of people. Either way, zombie mode was officially over. She was wide awake now, and something told her this was just the beginning.