Dead Last, First Place

The social pyramid at Northwood High was as rigid as geometry homework. At the apex? TheVarsityjacket-wearing elite with their pristine sneakers and effortless hair. At the base? The rest of us, scrambling for purchase on the slippery slopes of teenage approval.

I operated at basement level, mostly by choice. Being a zombie was easier than being a player. I'd perfected the art of shuffling through hallways with dead eyes, my brain operating on three hours of sleep and an espresso that tasted like regret.

"You look like actual death," Mia said, sliding onto the cafeteria bench beside me. She was the only person who could make a zombie aesthetic look intentional.

"Thanks," I mumbled. "Been up since 5 AM studying for AP Bio. I think my brain's officially mush."

Mia rolled her eyes. "That bull that Henderson feeds us about 'grinding' is toxic. No test is worth sacrificing your sanity."

She wasn't wrong. Mr. Henderson's lectures on academic achievement felt like a pyramid scheme—invest everything now for supposed returns later, while he collected his paycheck and went home to his actual life.

"Anyway," Mia said, pulling something from her backpack. "My mom's going through this holistic phase. She made me these"—she pushed a small bottle across the table—"gummy vitamins. They're supposed to help with 'teen stress.' Tastes like strawberry depression."

I laughed, surprised. "Strawberry depression should be their actual flavor name."

"Right?" Mia grinned. "But here's the thing—I started taking them, and weirdly, I've been sleeping better. Maybe it's placebo, maybe it's not chasing perfection anymore."

She watched me fumble with my biology notes, my hands trembling from caffeine overload.

"Or," she said softly, "maybe it's having someone who actually gives a damn."

The words hit harder than any test score ever could. I looked at her—really looked at her. The dark circles under her eyes that matched my own. The way she'd sat with me every lunch period since sixth grade, no questions asked.

"Yeah," I said, pushing the notes aside. "That might be it."

That afternoon, I skipped the optional study session. Instead, Mia and I walked to the corner store, bought slushies that stained our tongues blue, and sat on the curb watching sunset paint the sky in colors no AP class could teach.

I was still at the bottom of the social pyramid. I was still running on caffeine and questionable sleep hygiene. But for the first time in forever, I didn't feel like a zombie. I felt exactly, wonderfully alive.