Zombie Mode Offline

Marcus had spent the entire summer in zombie mode—brain fried from scrolling TikTok at 3 AM, eyes glazed from binge-watching shows until his dad's ancient cable package glitched out. He was sixteen and felt like he'd been living in grayscale while everyone else's life was in HD.

"Dude, you coming to the field?" Liam's voice crackled through Marcus's phone. "Baseball tryouts are next week."

"Yeah. Definitely. Maybe tomorrow."

Marcus wasn't definitely doing anything. His dad had signed him up to pet sit for Mrs. Henderson—she was paying twenty bucks a day to watch her menagerie while she visited grandkids. Easy money, he'd thought.

He showed up Monday morning to find chaos incarnate. Buster, a Golden Retriever with personal space issues, immediately knockedit him over with enthusiastic tail wags. Luna, a cat who clearly ran the household, perched on the kitchen counter like a tiny, judgmental gargoyle.

"You're in charge," Mrs. Henderson said, grabbing her suitcase. "Feed them, walk the dog, don't let them destroy my house. Text if you need anything."

Marcus spent the first hour sitting on Mrs. Henderson's couch, scrolling through his phone while Luna stared at him with what he swore was disappointment. Buster whined at the door, nudging Marcus's hand with his wet nose.

"Fine, whatever," Marcus muttered, grabbing the leash.

They walked to the park where his friends were playing pickup baseball. Marcus stood at the fence, watching—something he'd done all summer. The zombie on the sidelines.

Liam spotted him. "Hey! We need a player!"

Marcus shook his head. He hadn't picked up a bat since June. His arms felt like they belonged to someone else.

"Come on!" Liam yelled. "Just one inning!"

Buster barked, pulling toward the field. Luna, who'd somehow followed them (cats weren't supposed to do that), sat delicately near the dugout, watching like she understood the game better than anyone.

Marcus stepped onto the dirt. His first swing was embarrassing—air. His second was worse—he barely tapped the ball, sending it weakly toward third base. But then something clicked. Muscle memory. The satisfying crack of the bat. The way the ball sailed over the fence, perfect and impossible.

His friends cheered. Buster went absolutely feral, barking and running in circles. Luna actually stood up and stretched, as if to say, finally.

Marcus called Mrs. Henderson that night. "Everything's fine," he said, petting both animals while they crowded onto the couch with him. "Actually, everything's great."

He turned off his phone. The summer was ending, but for the first time, Marcus felt like he was actually waking up.