Dead in the Water

The zombie apocalypse started at 3 AM with a text. My ex-bestie posted a pool party invite. On my block. With everyone who'd watched our friendship implode like a soda in a freezer.

I hadn't slept since. Four days of existential crisis, fifteen hours of TikTok doom-scrolling, and my reflection looked like it was auditioning for The Walking Dead. Raccoon eyes? Check. Hair that could star in its own horror movie? Double check. I was a zombie, but like, the tragic kind.

"You're not going." Mom leaned against my doorframe, coffee in hand. "You look like you haven't slept since Biden was president."

"I'm fine." I smoothed my hair – disaster zone – and grabbed my swimsuit. "It's just a pool party."

The scene unfolding next door was straight out of a social nightmare. Everyone I'd been avoiding since The Incident (capital I, capital I) was there, glowing and perfect and terrifying. Jordan spotted me first. Their face did that thing where someone's trying to decide if they should wave or pretend they didn't see you.

"Hey!" Jordan's voice cut through the noise. "You came!"

"Yeah." I stood there, arms crossed over my cover-up. "Cool party."

"Come in the pool!" Someone shouted. "The water's perfect!"

I hesitated. My hair was already a crime scene. Chlorine would finish it off. But then Jordan dove in, surfacing with water dripping everywhere, grinning like they'd just won life. And something cracked open in my chest.

So I jumped. The water hit me like a reset button. All that zombie-mode heaviness dissolved into blue liquid clarity. When I surfaced, Jordan was waiting.

"Your hair's fine, you know," they said quietly. "You look... refreshed."

"I look like a wet dog who just survived a nuclear winter."

Jordan laughed. "Same, honestly. Being a teenager is basically just being a zombie with better skincare."

And there it was. The thing I'd been too dead inside to see – we were all just faking it. Some of us were just better at hiding the dark circles.

"Next time," I said, treading water, "invite me earlier. I almost died thinking about coming."

"Next time," Jordan promised, "I'll come get you myself. Zombie squad solidarity."

We stayed in the pool until our fingers pruned, the social apocalypse somehow feeling smaller than it had at 3 AM. Sometimes the worst nightmares look way less scary in daylight. Or chlorinated water. Whatever.