Zombie Mode on Court Three

I walked into the community center feeling like actual zombie roadkill. Three hours of sleep. Three. Thanks to my brain deciding 2 AM was the perfect time to replay every embarrassing moment from seventh grade.

"You ready for this?" Marcus asked, grinning like he hadn't just signed us up for beginner **padel** class.

"Bro," I said, "I'm running on caffeine and spite."

The coach, Coach Rivera, looked like she'd never had a nervous breakdown in her life. "Alright everyone, find a partner!"

That's when I saw him. Tyler. The **bull** of sophomore year. The guy who made carrying a tray through the cafeteria feel like a Navy SEAL mission. He was stretching near court three, looking annoyingly athletic.

"You're up against Tyler and Jordan," Marcus whispered. "Good luck with your life."

The game started. I missed the ball three times before I finally connected with it, sending it flying into the net. Tyler snorted. I felt my face burning.

Then my phone buzzed in my pocket. Mom: Don't forget your **vitamin** D! Dr. Patel said you're low!

Because YES, Mom. NOW was the perfect time. I could hear her voice already: *"Mija, you're inside all day, you need sunlight or supplements or BOTH"* — and honestly, she wasn't wrong. I basically lived under fluorescent lights like some kind of cave-dwelling creature.

"You good?" Tyler asked, and for once, he didn't sound sarcastic.

"Yeah," I said, surprising myself. "Just. My mom's texting me about vitamins in the middle of a match."

Tyler laughed. Actually laughed. "Dude, same. My mom got me those gummy ones and now she acts like I'm five."

Something shifted. We played another round. I didn't suck as much. Tyler gave me a fist bump when I managed a decent serve.

Afterward, we sat on the bench, dripping sweat. "Hey," he said, "you want to join our regular group? We play Tuesdays."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah. You're not terrible." He grinned. "Plus, anyone whose mom texts them about vitamins during a game is cool in my book."

I walked home feeling lighter than I had in weeks. The **zombie** fatigue was still there, but the dread wasn't. Sometimes the scariest things — new sports, intimidating people, putting yourself out there — turn out to be just people who also get awkward texts from their moms.

And maybe that was enough. For now.