Green Smoothie Apocalypse

Maya's phone buzzed for the third time in two minutes. Another TikTok notification. She groaned and shoved it deeper into her backpack pocket. First day at Northwood High and already her social battery was draining faster than her phone's.

"You look like a zombie," said a voice behind her. Maya turned to see a guy with messy dark hair and an actual vintage Game Boy in his hands. "No offense. Just, you know, undead vibes."

"Nice to meet you too," Maya deadpanned. "I'm Maya. And I'm not undead, just new. And socially anxious."

"Marcus." He shrugged. "Also anxious. We should form a club."

Maya actually laughed. It wasn't fake-laugh-at-a-teacher's-joke laughter. It was real.

"So what's your deal?" Marcus asked. "You got a tragic backstory? A mysterious past? Or are you just catastrophically overthinking lunch seating?"

"All of the above," Maya said. "But mostly I'm trying to figure out who I'm supposed to be here. Back at my old school, I was theater kid. Here? Who knows."

"Be whoever," Marcus said, like it was that simple. "I used to try to be cool. Now I just embrace my weird. Life's way better when you stop performing for an audience that's barely paying attention."

They ended up sitting together at lunch. Maya's mom had packed her a healthy smoothie — spinach, mango, something green and chunky. She stared at it like it was radioactive.

"What is that?" Marcus asked.

"Spinach smoothie. My mom's going through a phase."

"It looks like pond water." He leaned closer. "I dare you."

"What?"

"Drink it. One sip. Then we survive together."

Maya took a sip. It was... not terrible. Actually, it was kinda good. She took another.

"Not bad," she admitted.

"See? You're already braver than me." Marcus smiled, and it was genuine, crooked in a way that made something in her chest do a little flip.

Later, they discovered the school's literary magazine was accepting submissions. There was a riddle contest — like something the sphinx would ask, according to the flyer.

"We should enter," Maya said. "Together."

"You and me? Team catastrophic overthinking?"

"Exactly."

They spent the next week working on it at the library. Marcus was funny and weird and brilliant in ways Maya hadn't expected. She caught herself thinking this was what she'd been missing — not a label or a clique, but someone who got it. Someone who made her feel less like a zombie going through the motions and more like, well, Maya.

The day submissions were due, Marcus handed her the final entry. At the bottom, he'd written: 'P.S. You're not undead. You're just waking up.'

Maya smiled. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.