Battery Life at 1%

Maya's iphone buzzed in her sweaty palm, another Insta story from the party she was currently avoiding. The house loomed ahead, bass thumping like some living creature's heartbeat. She adjusted her beanie, thankful she'd thrown on the hat after spending forty minutes on her hair that still looked basic.

Inside, the air smelled like cheap body spray and desperation. Someone had put on a zombie movie in the background, which honestly felt appropriate—everyone moving in slow motion, phones glued to hands, dead eyes scanning the room for anyone more interesting to talk to. Maya stood by the chips, feeling like the only real person in a room of NPCs.

"Hey."

She jumped. Chase, the track star who'd been in her bio class forever, was suddenly way too close. His hair was messy-good, not messy-bad like hers probably was under the hat.

"You gonna stand here all night or actually talk to people?" He grinned. "You look like you're calculating your exit strategy."

"Hard same," she muttered, then wanted to die. Who says that out loud?

But Chase laughed. "Wanna get out of here? I'm not feeling this either."

They ended up at the playground down the street, sitting on swings and talking about everything and nothing. The sweaty palms were back, but different this time. Her phone stayed in her pocket—when had it last buzzed? Who cared.

Chase was funny and smart and didn't make her feel like she had to perform. The zombie feeling faded, replaced by something warmer and scarier.

"I should probably get back," she said eventually, though she didn't want to.

"Yeah." He stood up. "Hey, Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you came tonight. Even if you spent half of it looking like you wanted to teleport home."

She laughed, and it wasn't fake. Walking back, she checked her phone—12%, thirty-two missed notifications. For once, she didn't care. Some things were better than unlimited data.