Dead on My Feet

I felt like a actual zombie. Not the cool, Netflix kind with the epic makeup and dramatic backstory, but the gross, exhausted kind that shuffle through the hallways with dark circles and zero brain cells. Three hours of sleep after finding out Jake hooked up with Sarah at Maya's party will do that to you.

"You look like you died twice," said Marcus, matching my pace on the track. His fade was fresh, his energy annoyingly intact.

"Thanks. That's exactly the glow-up I was going for."

"Seriously though, why are you even here? Coach said we're doing six miles today." Marcus gestured at the unrelenting sun. "You're literally running on fumes."

"Because if I stop moving, I'll think about it." I adjusted my ponytail, already damp. "And if I think about it, I'll cry. And if I cry at school, I literally have to transfer."

Marcus nodded, getting it in that way guys do when they don't make it weird. "Fair. But you know Jake's an idiot, right? Like, objectively?

I didn't answer. We were already running anyway, footsteps falling into that rhythm that lets your brain go quiet, or at least quieter. The problem with running is that your body stays busy but your mind still has room to replay everything on a loop. Every text. Every fake-smiling encounter in the cafeteria. Every group chat where suddenly I was the person everyone forgot to include.

By mile four, I couldn't fake it anymore. I slowed to a walk, chest heaving, eyes stinging. Marcus stopped with me.

"I need water," I managed, but my voice cracked and suddenly I was crying, not about Jake anymore but about everything — about how much it sucks when people decide you don't fit anymore, about the way friendship can just evaporate overnight like it never mattered.

Marcus handed me his bottle. "You're not a zombie, you know. You're just grieving. And it's supposed to hurt. That's how you know it was real."

I drank. The water was warm and plastic-tasting but it was something real, something I could feel. "I hate this. I hate that everyone knows. I hate that she was my best friend first."

"Then let them know you're not dead yet." Marcus bumped my shoulder. "You're the one still out here, running. Jake didn't even make practice today. Said he was too tired."

Something shifted. Not fixed — not even close — but something.

"He didn't?"

"Nah. Too busy beingJake, I guess." Marcus started jogging backward. "You coming?"

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

We finished the last two miles, and when Coach blew the whistle, I didn't look at the spot where Jake usually stands. I didn't check my phone to see who was posting what. I just grabbed Marcus's water bottle one more time, drank deep, and thought maybe being a zombie wasn't about the dead part. Maybe it was about refusing to stay that way.