Dead Battery Sunday

Maya's iphone battery was at 4%—perfect metaphor for her soul.

She lay on her bed, doom-scrolling through Mia's flawless beach pics, feeling like the walking dead. Three nights of staying up until 3 AM binging zombie apocalypse shows will do that to you. Her mom knocked once, then pushed the door open.

"Papaya's ready. Carlos brought some from the mercado."

"Not hungry." Maya didn't look up. Her stomach had been knotted since Friday, when she'd accidentally liked a photo from 2019 on Kai's profile while spying on his Instagram stories at 2 AM. The notification was still burned into her retina: *You liked this post.*

"Maya. It's fresh. You used to love it."

She sighed, dragged herself up, and followed her mom to the kitchen. Carlos was there, grinning like he knew something she didn't. He'd been family friend forever, but lately he'd been giving her these looks—like she was a puzzle he was slowly solving.

"So," Carlos said, scooping papaya into a bowl. "You going to Jordan's pool party today?"

Maya froze. Jordan's party. Where Kai would be. Where she'd spent all week meticulously avoiding while simultaneously checking every five minutes to see who was going.

"No."

"Liar." Carlos sprinkled lime over the fruit. "I saw you stalking the story list. That's some next-level spy work you've got there."

"Shut up."

"He broke up with Lena, you know."

Maya's head snapped up. "What?"

"Like, yesterday. He's gonna be at the party, looking to move on." Carlos pushed the bowl toward her. "You should go. swimming, maybe talk to him without having a heart attack first."

Maya stared at the papaya—bright orange, impossible to ignore. The metaphor hit her: she'd been a zombie all week, dead to everything except her phone, her screen, her carefully curated anxieties. Time to actually live.

"Fine," she said, taking a bite. "But if this goes sideways, I'm never leaving my room again."

"Deal." Carlos winked. "Now go charge that phone. 4% won't survive the group chat."