Monday Zombie Survival

The alarm blared at 6:45 AM, and honestly? I felt like a literal zombie. Three hours of sleep because I'd been doom-scrolling until 3 AM—classic mistake. I dragged myself to the bathroom and stared in horror at my reflection. My hair was doing that thing where it defies physics, sticking up in six different directions like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket.

"Nope," I muttered, grabbing my beanie. Some battles aren't worth fighting.

Buster—our golden retriever—was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, tail thumping against the linoleum like a metronome set to 'enthusiastic.' He'd probably been up since dawn, living his best life.

"At least one of us is happy to be alive," I said, scratching behind his ears. Buster responded with full-body wiggles because that's just who he is as a person (dog? whatever).

The real problem: today's the day. THE day. Jason, who sits behind me in chem, had actually noticed me Friday. He'd said my new Converse were cool. That's basically a marriage proposal in high school logic. And now I had to show up looking like a zombie who'd crawled out of a grave specifically to fail organic chemistry.

Buster trotted beside me to the bus stop like my personal emotional support animal. My phone buzzed—group chat blowing up.

"u coming??"

"bus is literally here in 2"

"emergency hair situation SOS"

I tapped back: "already dead inside, see u at school."

The bus ride was its own special circle of hell. Eighth graders screaming TikTok audios, someone vaping in the back, and me, holding it together by a thread. When we finally pulled up to Westwood High, I spotted my friends immediately.

"Dude," Maya said, taking in my beanine Situation with wide eyes. "You okay? You look..."

"Tired? Dead? Like I've been haunted by the ghost of academic pressure?"

"I was gonna say brave, but sure." She adjusted her perfect curls—because Maya's hair always cooperates, unlike some people's.

Then I saw Jason walking down the hall. AND THEN. Buster—our family dog, who was supposed to be safely inside our house—came sprinting down the school corridor, leash dragging behind him like he'd just escaped prison.

The entire hallway froze. Jason stared. I died.

"BUSTER!" I shrieked, which was absolutely the wrong move because everyone turned to look at me.

The dog made a beeline straight for...Jason. Who immediately dropped to his knees, because Jason apparently has a soul.

"Is this your dog?" Jason asked, looking up with those stupidly perfect hazel eyes while Buster attempted to suffocate him with love. "He's awesome."

"He's a menace to society," I said, grabbing the leash. "But yeah. He's mine."

"Zombie mode, huh?" Jason nodded at my beanie. "I feel that. Every Monday."

And just like that, the worst morning of my life turned into... something else. Maybe Mondays aren't zombies that want to eat your brain. Sometimes they're just dogs that escape and accidentally make you talk to your crush.

Sometimes that's enough.