Beyond Zombie Mode

My hair was doing that thing where it defied physics, gravity, and every product I'd ever sprayed on it. I stared in the bathroom mirror, poking at the cowlick that made me look like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

"You're not actually going to school like that, are you?" Maya leaned against the doorframe, looking annoyingly perfect in her oversized hoodie.

"I'm embracing the chaos," I lied.

My phone buzzed on the counter—my iPhone lighting up with another notification. I'd been doom-scrolling until 3 AM again, caught in that zombie mode where your body moves but your brain's definitely checked out. Seventeen Instagram stories. Forty-five TikToks. Two hours gone, just like that.

"You've been running on fumes all week," Maya said softer this time. "What's actually going on?"

The truth? I'd been running—from everything. From the college applications that kept piling up. From the fact that my best friend and I hadn't spoken in three weeks because she'd decided I was "too negative." From the mirror, honestly.

My mom appeared in the doorway holding a bottle. "Don't forget your vitamin D. Dr. Patel said you're not getting enough sunlight."

I grabbed the capsule and dry-swallowed it because that's what seventeen-year-olds do when they're supposed to care about their health but actually don't.

Something snapped during cross country practice that afternoon. Maybe it was the humidity. Maybe it was the way Liam's hair flopped in his eyes when he grinned at me. But I found myself actually running—not just going through the motions, but pushing. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. And for the first time in weeks, I wasn't thinking about my phone, or my hair, or the college essay I hadn't started.

Liam matched my pace, easy and unconcerned. "You good?"

"Zombie mode is officially deactivated," I panted. "I think."

"Good," he said. "Because you're kind of adorable when you're not dead inside."

I flipped him off. He laughed.

Later, my phone buzzed somewhere in my bag. I didn't even check it. Maybe hair that defies gravity isn't the worst thing. Maybe running toward something real is better than scrolling through something fake. Maybe being a mess is just part of the gig.

I collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving, and finally felt like myself again—cowlick and all.