Zombie Mode Off

Marcus stumbled into third period chemistry feeling like the walking dead. Three nights of cramming for finals while his mom kept pushing those gross gummy **vitamin** supplements on him—"for brain health, mijo"—had left him running on pure caffeine and desperation.

"You look like a **zombie**," Sofia whispered, sliding into the seat next to him. "Rough night?"

"Rough week," Marcus mumbled, resting his head on his arms. "If one more person tells me grades determine my entire future, I'm actually gonna lose it."

The truth was, Marcus was tired of going through the motions. Wake up, school, study, repeat. He felt like he was playing someone else's life, not his own.

Then he saw it—tryouts for the **baseball** team posted on the bulletin board. Marcus hadn't picked up a bat since freshman year, when his dad's "focus on academics, not sports" speech had crushed his secret dream of varsity. But something about the flyer pulled him in. Maybe it was the way the afternoon sun hit the field during lunch. Maybe it was just desperation to feel something real.

"You gonna try out?" Sofia asked, following his gaze. "Freshman year you were obsessed with baseball."

Marcus shrugged. "Probably not. My parents would freak."

"So?" Sofia raised an eyebrow. "You spend half your life complaining about how you're always doing what they want. When do you get to choose?"

The words hit harder than she meant them to. That afternoon, Marcus found himself at the field, glove in hand, heart pounding like he'd had twelve energy drinks. When he hit that first ball—crack, perfect arc, total silence from the coaches watching—he felt more awake than he had in months.

His parents weren't thrilled. But as Marcus stood at home plate, dust on his cleats, sun in his eyes, and something that finally felt like his burning in his chest, he realized something important: being a little bit tired from living your own life felt infinitely better than being well-rested and dead inside.