Dead Hands and Heartbeats

I felt like a literal zombie. Three hours of sleep, two AP exams, and now I was stuck working the dunk tank at the spring carnival because my mom "volunteered" me. The rubber zombie mask I had to wear smelled like middle school locker room meets regret.

"You look undead, but make it fashion," said Jordan, sliding up to the booth. They were wearing that vintage thrifted jacket that made everything look effortless, while I was literally melting in the Florida humidity.

"Ha ha," I deadpanned inside the mask. My voice came out muffled and tragic. "Five throws for three dollars. All proceeds go to the band trip I'm not allowed to go on."

Jordan didn't throw. Instead, they leaned in close. "I need your help with something."

"My help? I can't even help myself right now."

"Exactly. You're perfect. I need you to be my spy."

I paused. The rubber mask suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. "Spy? Jordan, it's a school carnival, not a John Wick movie."

"Emma's here with Tyler. I need to know if they're holding hands. Just casually walk by, look like you're going to the restroom, and report back. I'll pay you in funnel cake."

I should've said no. I should've told them to grow up and communicate like a normal person. But I was seventeen, tired, and deeply susceptible to bribery. Also, funnel cake.

So I awkwardly shuffled toward the bathrooms, playing the part of zombie-worker-on-break, while my heart did this embarrassingly fast thing it always did around Jordan. This was fine. Everything was fine. I was just casually spying on my crush's potential relationship drama while dressed as the undead. Peak high school experience.

I spotted Emma and Tyler near the palm reader booth. They weren't holding hands. They weren't even close. Actually, Tyler was looking at someone else—some junior from the volleyball team.

I turned back to report my findings, but Jordan was already behind me.

"Well?" they asked, and I could hear the nervousness underneath their casual tone.

"They're not together," I said. "Tyler's checking out that junior in the oversized band shirt."

Jordan let out this breath they'd been holding, and then they were just standing there, smiling at me like I was the only person at this entire sweaty, loud, ridiculous carnival.

"Thank you," they said softly.

Then Jordan reached out and took my hand. Their palm was warm and slightly sweaty, and my brain completely short-circuited because this wasn't supposed to happen. This was the part where I disappeared into the background like I always did, the side character in someone else's story.

"You know," Jordan said, their thumb brushing over my knuckles, "I was kind of hoping you'd spy on them so I could hang out with you instead."

The zombie mask suddenly felt unnecessary. I was already dead from this moment anyway.

"Oh," was all I managed.

"Yeah. Oh." Jordan grinned. "Want to split that funnel cake?"

"Only if I can take this mask off first."

"Deal."