Zombie Padel Apocalypse

The sun wasn't even up when I got Maya's text: ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. PADEL COURTS. NOW.

I dragged myself out of bed feeling like a actual zombie—three hours of sleep will do that to you. Been staying up way too late watching her streaming these days, lowkey obsessed even though I'd never admit it. My mom called it unhealthy. I called it dedication.

When I rolled up to the rec center, Maya was already there with her padel racket, bouncing a ball like her life depended on it. Chase—my longest friend in the world, the guy who'd shared his gummy bears with me in kindergarten—was leaning against the fence, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

"Bro, it's 7 AM," Chase said, yawning. "Why are we here?"

"Bear Creek High's rival team practices at this court," Maya explained, dropping her voice like we were planning a heist. "We need intel. For the tournament next week."

"The tournament we're definitely gonna lose," I muttered.

"Not with my strategy," she said, whipping out this crumpled notebook covered in doodles. "I've been watching their Instagram stories. Their star player? Totally psyched himself out before last regionals. I've got his weakness."

Chase snorted. "You sound deranged right now."

"Am I though?" Maya's eyes lit up. "Watch and learn, zombie boy."

She dragged us onto the court, started drilling me on this insane footwork pattern she claimed would "maximize our aggression levels." Chase just stood there snapchatting the whole thing like we weren't about to get roasted by the varsity team.

But here's the thing—when we finally played an actual set later that week, Maya's crazy strategy actually worked. I was moving better, Chase stopped scrolling and started actually playing, and for the first time since middle school, we didn't completely embarrass ourselves.

Afterward, sitting on the curb sharing a bag of gummy bears Chase had miraculously produced from somewhere, Maya grinned at us. "Told you. Knowledge is power."

"You're actually unhinged," I said, but I was smiling.

"And yet," she said, "you're welcome."

Some friendships just hit different—the ones where you'll show up at dawn for zombie apocalypse padel practice, no questions asked. The ones where gummy bears and bad decisions and somehow winning despite yourselves is just... normal.

"Same time tomorrow?" Chase asked.

Maya and I looked at each other.

"Absolutely not."