Zombie Sunrise at the Plate

Marcus stood at home plate, swinging his bat like his arms were made of lead. Two hours of sleep would do that to you. Practically a zombie at this point, but baseball didn't care about his all-night gaming session. Coach Miller's voice echoed across the field: 'Keep your eye on the ball, Carter!'

He adjusted his orange cleats—the only pair his mom could find on sale at Dick's last week. They screamed rookie. At least they matched the sunrise painting the sky behind the backstop, that perfect blend of tangerine and pink that made everything feel possible.

'You good?' Sam asked, tossing him a Gatorade from the dugout. Her braces glinted in the morning light. 'You look dead.'

'Managed like three hours,' Marcus admitted, cracking the seal on the bottle. 'Rank mode in Apex doesn't sleep.'

Sam rolled her eyes but grinned. 'Your kd ratio won't save you from failing algebra, bro.'

The school mascot, Barnaby the Bear, lumbered onto the field in a sweaty polyester suit. Someone inside was definitely overheating in there. 'Go Bears!' Barnaby's muffled voice called out, raising both paws.

'Who's even in that thing?' Marcus asked, genuinely curious.

'New kid. Tyler? Something like that. Apparently he lost a bet,' Sam said, then paused. 'Hey, you think your parents will let you come to my party Friday? It's gonna be sick.'

His stomach did this thing—this whole fluttery nonsense. Sam's party. The one everyone was talking about. 'Uh, yeah. Probably. I'll check with my mom.' Lame response. He knew it was lame. His brain was still in zombie mode.

'Cool. Just... yeah. Let me know.' She tucked her hair behind her ear, and Marcus noticed the tiny orange friendship bracelet on her wrist. The one her little sister probably made.

Coach blew his whistle. 'Carter! You're up!'

Marcus stepped into the batter's box, the dirt crunching under his neon shoes. He adjusted his grip, took a deep breath, and watched the pitcher wind up. The ball came flying in, and for a second, time stretched.

He swung. Perfect contact. The ball soared over the fence, clearing the trees beyond.

Barnaby the Bear did a clumsy victory dance. Sam whooped from the dugout. Marcus jogged the bases, exhaustion forgotten, suddenly very much alive.

Maybe this day wouldn't be so bad after all.