Friday Zombie State

Maya dragged herself into third period feeling like actual zombie royalty. After staying up until 3 AM finishing her AP History project and accidentally falling into a TikTok void, her brain was running on empty. She'd barely survived the morning by chugging some gross orange vitamin C drink her mom swore would 'boost her immune system.' Spoiler: it did not boost her ability to stay awake during algebra.

'You look dead,' whispered Sophie from the locker next to hers, adjusting her perfect ponytail. 'Rough night?'

'More like rough life,' Maya muttered, spinning her combination lock. 'I'm supposed to be at the padel tournament in like, twenty minutes, and I've never even held a racquet.'

Sophie's eyes lit up. 'Wait, you're doing the club tournament? My brother's playing. He's actually lowkey good.'

Maya's face heated. Her parents had signed her up for everything this semester—padel, swimming club, even that weird robotics camp she'd bailed on after one day. They meant well, but sometimes she felt like a puppet in their elaborate 'well-rounded teenager' production.

The tournament was predictably awkward. Maya missed every ball, tripped over her own feet twice, and accidentally hit a serve into the next court. But somewhere between her epic fails and the orange slices being passed around during breaks, something clicked. When Sophie's brother high-fived her after she finally returned a shot—and I mean barely grazed it, but still—she felt something shift.

Afterward, she ended up at the community pool with her friends, floating on her back as the sky turned that perfect golden hour orange. Jack from her English class swam over, doing his best shark impression underwater.

'Not terrible for a zombie,' he said, surfacing like a creature from the deep. 'I saw your match. You've got potential.'

Maya laughed, genuinely laughed, for the first time all day. 'Maybe. Or maybe I'm just sleep-deprived enough that my brain finally stopped overthinking everything.'

The water felt cool against her skin, and for once, the constant pressure to be perfect, to excel, to have her whole life figured out at sixteen—it all faded. Sometimes being a zombie wasn't about being dead inside. Sometimes it was about letting yourself float, letting the water hold you up, and realizing that maybe, just maybe, you didn't have to have it all together yet.

'Same time next Friday?' Jack asked.

Maya grinned, feeling surprisingly alive for someone running on three hours of sleep and a vitamin drink. 'Bet.'