Zombie Runner's Guide to Asking Out

Leo felt like a literal zombie. Third consecutive all-nighter for AP Bio would do that to a person. His eyes burned, his brain was fog, and he was currently running track practice while simultaneously trying to spy on Maya across the field.

She was stretching by the bleachers, and Leo had been lowkey watching her for weeks. Not in a creepy way. Okay, maybe a little creepy. But she'd noticed him yesterday, which was *something*.

"You good, bro?" Marcus panted beside him, matching Leo's stride. "You look dead."

"Living the dream," Leo muttered.

Coach blew the whistle. "Last lap! Give me everything you've got!"

Leo's legs burned. His palms were sweating so bad he could barely wipe them on his shorts. The bull sculpture in the courtyard—some weird art installation the senior class had commissioned—seemed to mock him every time he rounded the track. *Just ask her,* it seemed to say. *What's the worst that could happen?*

Everything. The answer was everything.

He could accidentally call her by the wrong name. Or trip in front of everyone. Or confess that he'd been spying on her Instagram stories at 2 AM like some total creep.

Practice ended. Leo leaned against the fence, gulping water like he'd been stranded in a desert. Maya walked past, and his heart did this embarrassing flutter thing.

"Hey," she said. "You're Leo, right? Track guy?"

His brain short-circuited. "Yeah. Hi. Hello."

Smooth. Real smooth.

She laughed. "You seem intense. You running the homecoming 5K?"

"Probably? I mean, yes. Definitely."

"Cool." She flipped her hair back. "Maybe I'll see you there. I'm Maya, by the way."

She knew his name. She *knew his name*.

Leo walked home feeling like he could sprint forever, zombie state be damned. His palm still had his sweat on it, but whatever. Small price for whatever that conversation was.

A start. A beginning.

His phone buzzed. Marcus: *dude you were lowkey shining*.

Leo grinned. Maybe tomorrow he'd actually ask her to the dance. Or maybe he'd just keep running toward that possibility, one awkward moment at a time.