Dead Tired & Running Late

The hat was pulled low over my eyes—basic defense mechanism against the fluorescent lights of 7-Eleven at 7 AM. Classic beanie, slightly too big, stolen from my older brother before he moved out. Like carrying a piece of him around, or maybe just trying to look mysterious instead of completely exhausted.

"You look like a zombie," Mia said, not looking up from her phone as she slid a vitamin water across the counter toward me. Like she was one to talk—she'd been up until 3 AM scrolling through TikTok.

"That's because cross country practice literally killed me," I said, cracking open the drink. "Coach had us running intervals in the humidity. My legs are basically Jell-O."

Mia finally looked up, grinning. "Jell-O zombie. Sounds like a terrible Halloween costume."

"Shut up."

My iPhone buzzed in my pocket—that specific vibration pattern that meant Instagram. Everyone knows the difference. Insta = two short buzzes. Text = one long one. Mom calling = the apocalypse buzzer.

I ignored it. The dread knot in my stomach was already tightening enough without checking whatever drama was unfolding in the group chat. Probably Jason posting another video of himself failing at skateboarding tricks. Or maybe Lily finally posting about the party on Friday—the one everyone was going to except me, probably.

"You gonna check that?" Mia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah. Probably nothing."

"That's not nothing. That's your 'I'm overthinking everything' face."

She saw right through me. Always had, since we were weird little kids making mud pies in her backyard. Now we were just weird teenagers making bad decisions and questioning everything.

"It's the party," I admitted. "I don't think I'm going."

Mia rolled her eyes so hard I worried they'd get stuck. "Oh my god, you're NOT still overthinking this. Tyler's gonna be there. So what?"

"So I literally tripped over my own feet in front of him yesterday. In the hallway. With everyone watching."

"Drama queen." She slid a cherry slushie my way. "On the house. Consider it fuel for your emotional crisis."

I took a sip—brain freeze immediately. "You're the worst."

"And you're going to that party. You're gonna wear that hat, you're gonna own the zombie aesthetic, and you're gonna talk to Tyler like a normal human being instead of whatever this is."

She gestured at my entire existence with one hand.

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who—"

"—who runs six miles before dawn and still has time to spiral?" She laughed. "You're stronger than you think. Now finish your vitamin water and let's get to school before we're actually late."

The hat felt a little lighter on my head. The zombie in the mirror looked a little more alive. Maybe Mia was right. Maybe I'd survive Friday after all.

Or maybe I'd just consume more sugar and panic about it later. That seemed more likely.