Zombie State Padel Champion

Maya's palms were sweating. Like, actually dripping onto her padel racquet grip, which was gross and also definitely not helping her serve.

"You look like a zombie," whispered JJ from the adjacent court, smirking. He'd been her nemesis since seventh grade, when he'd "accidentally" hit her with a tennis ball three times in one practice.

Maya flipped him off with her non-racquet hand. "Got zero hours of sleep last night. Thanks for noticing."

"Nervous about the tournament?" JJ raised an eyebrow. "Or still thinking about what happened at Maya's party?"

The party. Where she'd made a total fool of herself trying to impress Tyler, the older guy who'd ended up making out with literally someone else five minutes later. The humiliation still burned through her chest like heartburn.

"Shut up and play, JJ."

The palm trees swayed above the court, casting scattered shadows across the blue surface. Summer camp padel tournament. Parents watching from the sidelines. Her mom had brought an entire setup of snacks and was practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

The truth was, Maya didn't even like padel that much. She'd only signed up because JJ was doing it, and they'd been competing at everything since elementary school, and she refused to let him win at anything ever. But here she was, playing in the semi-finals while running on two hours of sleep and three energy drinks.

Her opponent was some girl from another camp—Taylor. Really pretty. Really confident. Really bear-hugged her own dad after winning the first set, which Maya thought was sweet but also made her chest ache a little because her own dad was back home working and hadn't made the trip.

"You okay?" Taylor asked between points, noticing Maya's glazed expression. "You look like you might pass out."

Maya shook herself. "Fine. Just in zombie mode. It's my aesthetic now."

Taylor laughed. "I feel that. Last night I cried over a text for like two hours. Teens are built different."

Something shifted. Maybe it was the honesty. Maybe it was realizing everyone was just faking confidence.

The final set came down to one point. Maya's palms stopped sweating. Her mind cleared. She didn't think about Tyler, or JJ, or the trophy, or her mom's expectations.

She just played.

The ball hit the perfect angle. Taylor couldn't return it.

Game, set, match.

JJ's jaw dropped. Taylor high-fived her. Her mom screamed. And Maya stood there in the sweltering heat, under the rustling palms, holding a trophy she didn't even care about five minutes ago, and smiled.

Maybe being a zombie champion wasn't the worst thing in the world.