Friday Night Zombie Protocol

Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling like a **zombie** after three hours of smiling until her face hurt. The party was supposed to be legendary, but mostly it was just loud music and people trying too hard.

"Dude, you have to try this," Tyler announced, shoving a slice of **papaya** in her direction. "My mom got it at Whole Foods. It's exotic."

Maya stared at the fruit. "It looks like... alien insides."

"That's the point!" Tyler grinned, eyes bright with the kind of confidence that came naturally to some people and not at all to others. "Living our best lives, right?"

Before Maya could respond, her **iPhone** buzzed in her pocket. Again. She'd been doomscrolling since 7 PM, watching everyone else's supposedly perfect Friday nights unfold through filtered photos and carefully crafted stories. The FOMO was real, even though she was literally at a party.

Across the room, Sarah was loudly explaining to some sophomore why her dad's startup was totally going to be worth billions soon.

"**Bull**," someone muttered nearby. "She said that last week about his crypto investment."

Maya stifled a laugh. Then caught herself. Why was she even here? The papaya sat forgotten on the counter. Her phone kept buzzing with notifications that seemed both urgent and completely pointless. The zombie feeling wasn't just about being tired—it was about doing things because that's what you did on Friday nights, not because they actually made you feel anything.

"You okay?" Tyler asked, suddenly serious.

Maya looked at him. Really looked. The papaya. The phone. The performative coolness.

"Actually," she said, "I think I'm gonna head home."

"Oh." Tyler paused. "Want company? I could use some air too."

They left the party together, two zombies escaping the apocalypse, somehow more real in that kitchen doorway than anyone else in the room. The papaya stayed behind on the counter. Nobody missed it.