Orange Crush at the Undead 5K

The neon orange adidas tank top was Mara's mom's idea. "You'll be impossible to miss!" she'd said, handing it over with that desperate mom-energy, like a bright shirt could fix social invisibility.

Now standing at the starting line of the Unded 5K charity run, Mara felt like a human traffic cone. Around her, hundreds of people in various states of zombie decay—fake blood, torn clothes, gruesome makeup—were doing warm-up stretches. Meanwhile, she was basically a walking construction barrier.

"You look like you're about to puke."

Mara jumped. It was Sam from her AP English class, the one who sat in the back and always looked half-asleep but somehow got straight A's. Today, Sam was wearing surprisingly realistic zombie makeup, complete with what looked like actual peeling skin effect.

"I'm not good at... people," Mara mumbled, immediately regretting how lame that sounded.

Sam laughed. "Same. That's why I do this every year. The makeup is like armor. You can be as weird as you want, and people just think you're method acting." Sam gestured at Mara's orange shirt. "Besides, at least you committed to the bit."

"The bit?"

"You know, like you're the last survivor. The final girl. Everyone else is part of the horde." Sam grinned, revealing temporary vampire teeth. "I'm Sam, by the way. We're partners now."

The starting horn blew before Mara could process that—partner? Since when?—and suddenly they were running.

Or more accurately, shuffling dramatically, because that's what zombie runners did. Sam kept pace beside her, making these ridiculous groaning noises that had Mara laughing so hard she nearly tripped over her own feet.

"So why the orange?" Sam asked halfway through, after they'd both abandoned zombie-walking for actual jogging.

"My mom thinks I need to be more visible. In general. Like, as a person."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "Moms, right? Mine thinks I need to join more clubs. Hence, zombie charity runs. It's literally the only social interaction I get all year."

"Wait, seriously?" Mara asked. "You seem so... confident."

"Fake it 'til you make it, my friend." Sam winked. "The zombie makeup helps."

They finished the race (dead last, which felt appropriate) and someone handed them both bright orange Gatorades. Sam held up their bottles against Mara's shirt.

"See? Color coordination. We're basically best friends now."

Mara's chest did this weird flutter thing. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."

Later, as they sat on the grass watching other runners cross the finish line, Mara's phone buzzed. A text from her mom: "How's it going? Make any friends??"

She typed back: "Actually, yeah. I think I did."