Orange Sky Exit Interview

I felt like a zombie for three weeks after the breakup. Just going through the motions at school, nodding at all the right times, existing on autopilot while my brain replayed every conversation on a loop.

"You good, Marcus?" Jenna asked at lunch, eyeing my untouched tray.

"Yeah, just tired," I mumbled. The lie tasted like cardboard.

The only thing that actually made me feel human anymore was running. Track practice became my escape — the rhythm of my breath, the burning in my lungs, the way everything simplified to just putting one foot in front of the other. Coach said I'd shaved twelve seconds off my mile time since the breakup. Silver linings, I guess.

Thursday, I got home to find my cat Mochi sprawled on my bed like she owned the place, which she basically did. She nudged my hand with that demanding little head of hers, and for the first time all day, I smiled. Animals don't need explanations. They don't ask if you're okay when you're clearly not. They just exist with you.

That evening, Maya texted me. Hey, I'm having people over Saturday if you want to come. No pressure.

I stared at my phone. The smart move was staying home, marathoning Netflix, and avoiding social interaction until college. But then I thought about Coach's speech about how champions aren't made by staying comfortable, and honestly, I was tired of my room.

The party turned out to be low-key — backyard fire pit, s'mores, that perfect orange glow from the string lights Maya's sister hung up. I ended up talking to Kayla for like an hour about our zombie apocalypse survival plans (hers involved a Taco Bell, which honestly, valid).

"You're actually fun when you're not moping," she said.

"I wasn't moping."

"Marcus, you were literally walking around like your grandma died. We were worried."

I laughed, and it felt real. The orange light flickered across her face as she roasted a marshmallow to perfection.

Maybe things weren't completely back to normal. But standing there, surrounded by people who actually gave a damn, with Mochi probably destroying my couch at home and tomorrow's practice already on my mind — things felt okay. Not great, but okay.

And sometimes okay is enough.