Friday Night Zombie Mode

My hair was doing that weird flippy thing it does when I'm nervous — you know, when one chunk decides to rebel against gravity and social norms alike. I smoothed it down for the fiftieth time, staring at my reflection like it might magically transform into someone cooler.

"You good in there?" Jordan called from downstairs. "Party starts in twenty!"

"Coming!"

I grabbed my iphone, thumb hovering over Tyler's text: "u coming??" The three question marks felt like they were judging my soul. This was it — my first real house party since moving to this school, and my stomach was doing gymnastics that would qualify for the Olympics.

Then disaster struck. As I leaned over the bathroom counter, I caught sight of something green and sinister wedged between my front teeth. Spinach. From lunch. SIX HOURS AGO.

How many people had I smiled at today? How many times had I laughed at someone's joke while literally wearing salad like a badge of social failure? I scrubbed my teeth like I was trying to erase my entire existence.

My cat Luna chose that moment to saunter in, jump on the counter, and knock my expensive cologne into the sink. She purred condescendingly, as if to say, "Honey, you're not ready."

By the time I made it to Jordan's car, I was operating on pure zombie mode — eyes glazed, brain offline, body moving through the motions of someone who was definitely not about to have the best or worst night of their life.

"You look terrified," Jordan said, pulling out of the driveway.

"I'm not terrified. I'm spiritually prepared for whatever happens."

"That sounded weirdly philosophical."

"I've been watching too many existential crisis videos on TikTok."

The party was exactly like every teen movie ever: loud music, people pretending to be cooler than they felt, and that one guy who definitely brought his own speakers. But somewhere between Tyler spiking the punch with too much soda and Luna probably destroying my room back home, I stopped feeling like a zombie.

I caught my reflection in a window and realized my hair was still doing that rebellious thing. But Tyler smiled at me, spinach-free and genuinely happy I'd made it, and somehow that was enough.

Some nights you're the zombie. Some nights you're just a kid with spinach in your teeth, trying to figure out who you're becoming. Either way, you show up.