Zombies Don't Eat Papaya

The summer party was exactly where I didn't want to be. I stood by the snack table, feeling like a zombie—socially dead, moving through motions, zero personality online or off. My best friend Maya, of course, was in the center of the room, being her usual charismatic fox self. She'd slipped away from some conversation about someone's Instagram follower count and appeared beside me, holding a plate with weird fruit.

"Try this," she said, shoving something yellow-orange at my face. "It's papaya. Exotic, right? Just like you."

"I'm not exotic," I muttered. "I'm from Ohio."

"You're exotic compared to these basic people." She popped a piece in her mouth. "Carter's baseball team is here, by the way. If you're still doing that thing where you pretend not to exist whenever he's around."

My stomach did that embarrassing flip it always did when Carter was mentioned. Carter with his baseball cap and his stupid perfect hair and the way he looked like he'd walked straight out of a coming-of-age movie where everything works out.

I spotted him across the yard, standing near the old baseball diamond behind the house. He was holding a bat, laughing about something with his friends. The same friends who'd made fun of my hoodie freshman year.

"He's not even that cute," I lied.

"You're literally blushing," Maya said, unimpressed. "Go talk to him. It's been, what? Two years? This isn't a zombie apocalypse, Leo. You can leave your safe house."

"And say what? 'Hey, remember when you said my Attack on Titan shirt was cringe in ninth grade? Good times'?"

She stared at me. "That's what this is about? He literally apologized last year. You were too busy being a dramatic little fox to notice."

I paused. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah. He felt terrible about it. Asked me about you like, five times." She pushed me toward the baseball diamond. "Go. Before I start plotting."

My heart hammered as I walked over. Carter saw me coming and his face lit up—actually lit up, like he'd been hoping I would show up.

"Leo!" He tossed me a baseball glove. "We need a right fielder. You in?"

I caught it, stunned. "Since when do I play baseball?"

"Since tonight." He grinned. "Unless you're allergic to fun?"

Something in my chest unlocked. "Try me," I heard myself say.

As I ran onto the field, Maya's voice carried across the yard: "AND THE ZOMBIE RISES!" I flipped her off, but I was smiling. Sometimes the apocalypse ends when you least expect it.