Poolside Undead

My hair was doing that thing again — that awkward half-curl-half-flop that made me look like I'd just rolled out of bed. Which I had. But still. I tugged my favorite beanie down lower, practically over my eyes, because if there's one thing universal to being sixteen, it's that your hair is NEVER just hair. It's a statement. A cry for help. A betrayal.

"You coming in or what?" Marcus called from the pool, doing that thing where he splashed water like he was in a music video.

"Nah, I'm good," I mumbled, sinking deeper into the plastic lounge chair. The annual block party pool thing. My personal hell.

Chloe plopped down beside me, dripping wet and somehow making it look intentional. She'd chopped all her hair off last week — pixie short, dyed this electric blue that screamed I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE THINKS. I both hated and admired her for it.

"You've been wearing that hat since February, Maya," she said, not unkindly. "It's July. You're not Gandalf."

"This is my emotional support hat."

"Your emotional support hat smells like it needs emotional support itself."

I cracked a smile. She wasn't wrong.

Marcus and his crew were doing something genuinely unholy in the deep end. Flailing. Making these terrible groaning noises. I squinted. Were they...

"They're doing a zombie reenactment," Chloe said, following my gaze. "Marcus watched that show last weekend and now everything's zombies."

"In the POOL?"

"Apparently zombies can swim now. It's whole thing."

And then Marcus — this 6'2" basketball player who'd been my neighbor since we were five — proceeded to drag himself zombie-style out of the water while making noises that sounded like a dying walrus. Everyone was either laughing or pretending not to see him. That's the thing about teenagers: we can spot genuine weirdness at fifty paces and either embrace it or pretend our souls have left our bodies.

"He's been doing that all day," Chloe whispered. "I think he's trying to impress Ashley."

Ashley, who was checking her phone like her life depended on it.

"She's not impressed."

"Bro, I'm a FULLY FORMED swimming zombie," Marcus announced to no one in particular, dripping onto the concrete. "I have needs. I have cravings. Brains. Also snacks."

And I don't know what happened — maybe it was the humidity, maybe it was how Marcus looked like a wet golden retriever who'd just been told he was a good boy, maybe it was the fact that I'd been hiding behind my hat for six months like it was armor — but I actually laughed. Like, really laughed.

Chloe grinned. "There she is."

"Whatever."

"Take off the hat, Maya. It's like ninety degrees."

So I did. And my hair did its weird floppy thing. And no one died. Marcus waved from the pool like a cheerful zombie. Chloe handed me a bag of chips from somewhere. And for the first time in months, I didn't feel like I was swimming through my own life, waiting for it to start.

Sometimes you have to let yourself be a little undead before you can feel alive again.