Poolside Apocalypse

The hat was everything. A vintage black trucker with a rusted snapback, curated to look like I'd found it at a thrift store when actually I'd spent two weeks researching 90s aesthetics on Pinterest. Standing at the edge of Jake Miller's backyard pool, I adjusted it for the third time in thirty seconds.

"You good, Marcus?" Jake called from the diving board, where he was showing off his abs to everyone within earshot.

"Yeah," I managed. "Just... adjusting."

Truth: I felt like a zombie. Three hours of sleep, courtesy of overthinking every possible social scenario for this party, will do that to you. I'd spent all morning practicing casual greetings in the mirror and now I couldn't even make eye contact with people I'd known since middle school.

The pool shimmered with that expensive blue that only rich families could maintain. Girls in perfectly coordinated bikini sets floated on inflatables while guys played chicken fights, their laughter floating across the water like something I'd never be part of.

Then my phone buzzed. GROUP CHAT: *Zombie apocalypse simulation behind the school TONIGHT. Everyone's going. Don't be the only one not there.*

I stared at the screen. These were the same people in this pool, the ones who'd never once invited me anywhere. But suddenly, because someone decided a zombie larp would be hilarious, I was supposed to show up and pretend to be part of the crew?

Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Maybe it was Jake doing another cannonball while everyone screamed his name like he'd just saved the world.

I took off my hat and threw it onto a lounge chair.

"Marcus!" Jake yelled. "Pool basketball! You in?"

Normally I'd mumble something about needing to check my phone. But instead, I cannonballed into the deep end, surfacing with water everywhere. "PASS IT HERE," I shouted, and someone actually did.

Later that night, I showed up behind the school in my oldest clothes, face paint streaking my skin like I'd been through actual hell. The zombie simulation was ridiculous and perfect and for three hours, nobody was cool or popular or trying to be something they weren't. We were just running around in the dark, screaming about brains.

My phone buzzed with a new message from an unknown number: *You were actually kinda funny tonight. This is Maya from Jake's party. Wanna hang tomorrow?*

I put the hat back on my shelf. Didn't need it anymore.