Zombie Mode Padel

I was operating on serious zombie mode. Like, actual walking dead status. Three hours of sleep because I stayed up doomscrolling TikTok until 3 AM watching hair transformation videos and convincing myself I needed a radical chop (I didn't).

"You coming?" Maya yelled from downstairs. "The padel court awaits!"

Padel. Because obviously my socially extroverted best friend decided we needed to learn a sport that involves a small ball, walls, and maximum potential for looking foolish in front of the cute guys who always reserved the court after us.

"Just gotta—" I gestured vaguely at my head. The humidity had turned my normally manageable waves into something that could be classified as a biological hazard. I threw it in a messy bun and called it aesthetic.

The summer sun hit me like a physical force as we walked to the rec center. Someone's hose was leaking, creating a mini river across the sidewalk. Of course I managed to step directly in a puddle, soaking my sneaker. Classic.

At least ten people were already at the courts. Including him. Lucas. The one with the perfect jawline and the tendency to wear hoodies in 80-degree weather because apparently that's the vibe now.

"Watch this!" Maya whispered, grabbing her racquet.

I barely had time to process before she launched herself toward the ball like a woman possessed, missed completely, and slammed into the glass wall. The entire court went silent. I wanted to dissolve into particles.

But then Lucas laughed. Not mean laughing, but genuine *clutching his stomach* laughing. And suddenly so was everyone else, including Maya, who was now dramatically sprawled on the court like she'd just taken a bullet for the team.

"I meant to do that," she announced. "It's called psychological warfare. Intimidation through injury."

"Bold strategy," I called back, feeling something weird happening in my chest. Like warmth? Was I having a medical emergency?

The game continued. I actually hit the ball a few times. Lucas kept looking over. Once I caught his eye and he smiled, and I had to check if my face was malfunctioning because I could feel the tomato-red heat spreading across my cheeks.

Afterward, as we were leaving, he jogged over. His hair was damp with sweat and I had the sudden uncontrollable urge to compliment it but managed to stop myself because that would be unhinged.

"Hey," he said. "You guys were actually pretty solid out there."

"Thanks," Maya said. "We're working on our intimidation techniques."

He laughed again. "Well, it's working. Some of us are definitely intimidated."

Was he flirting? Was this a thing? My brain stopped processing. The walking dead feeling was replaced by something else—like every nerve ending had suddenly come online.

"Cool," I managed, which was absolutely devastating.

He nodded and headed back to his friends, and I may have imagined it but I think he looked back once.

"He was totally checking you out," Maya said, fanning herself with her racquet. "Your hair situation is clearly doing it for him."

I caught my reflection in a window. The bun had escaped halfway down my head, creating a bizarre half-up half-down situation with multiple layers of frizz. It was possibly the worst my hair had ever looked in the history of hair existing.

"I think I'm going to embrace the zombie aesthetic," I said. "It's a vibe now."

"It's definitely a vibe," Maya agreed. "A very successful vibe."

We walked home in the blistering heat, stopping at the water fountain because we were both about to pass out. My phone buzzed—a notification from the rec center's app. Someone had requested to add me as a friend on the sports scheduling thing.

Lucas M. had sent: "Same time next week?"

I stared at it like it was an alien artifact. Then I showed Maya, who proceeded to lose her entire mind right there on the sidewalk.

Maybe operating on zombie sleep schedule wasn't entirely terrible. Or maybe I was just delusional from sleep deprivation. Either way, I had a padel date next week, and suddenly the whole haircut crisis didn't seem so urgent after all.