Friday Night Apocalypse

Maya slumped onto Jordan's basement couch, clutching a lukewarm orange soda like it was her only lifeline. The一周 of finals had turned her into something resembling a zombie—shuffling through school hallways, responding in grunts, existing on caffeine and anxiety.

"You good?" Jordan asked, not looking up from his phone.

"Dead inside," Maya groaned. "But tonight's supposed to fix that, right?"

Their friend group's annual horror movie marathon. More like five people squished onto one couch, half-paying attention while secretly texting crushes or checking Instagram. Maya had been crushing on Alex since seventh grade, and tonight—tonight she was finally going to make a move. Or at least say something that wasn't just "hey" or "can I borrow a pencil."

The doorbell rang. In stumbled Riley, dressed as what looked like a fox—complete with ears and a tail that kept knocking things over.

"What are you supposed to be?" Jordan asked.

"A fox, obviously. It's for that theater project?" Riley spun around, sending a stack of Xbox games flying. "Anyway, my cat destroyed my actual costume, so this is what we're working with."

Maya's phone buzzed. Alex: "Running late, be there in 10. Bringing snacks!"

Her stomach did that thing. The bear-in-a-circus thing. Flipping, tumbling, making her feel ridiculous. She'd spent three hours getting ready, changing her outfit seven times, trying to hit that perfect balance between effortless and actually trying.

When Alex finally arrived, carrying a bag of cheese puffs that turned his fingers orange, Maya's brain short-circuited. He sat next to her—actually next to her, their knees touching—and she forgot every single line she'd practiced in the mirror.

"What are we watching?" Alex asked, leaning in close enough that she could smell his fabric softener.

"Zombie apocalypse marathon," Riley announced. "Starting with the classics."

Halfway through the second movie, Alex leaned over and whispered, "You know what's scarier than zombies?"

Maya's heart hammered. "What?"

"Having to actually talk to someone you like instead of just staring at them from across the cafeteria."

He was blushing. Alex, the guy who'd accidentally pantsed himself in gym last year and laughed it off, was blushing.

"Yeah," Maya managed, her voice barely audible. "That's terrifying."

"So," Alex said, his knee pressing more firmly against hers, "hypothetically, if I wanted to ask this person to the winter dance..."

On screen, zombie hordes swarmed toward a farmhouse. But the real apocalypse was happening right here—the ending of Maya's three-year crush silence, the zombie of her anxiety finally dying, replaced by something new and terrifying and wonderful.

"Hypothetically," she whispered back, "I think this person would say yes."