Poolside Undead

The water shimmered like liquid diamonds, but Maya's stomach churned like a washing machine on spin cycle. Tonight was Jason's pool party – the social event of the summer before sophomore year – and she'd been stress-curling her hair for three hours.

"You look fine, Maya," her little brother Leo shouted from his video game dungeon. "Stop obsessing. You're not gonna impress anyone looking like a zombie."

Maya glared at her reflection. Her normally frizzy hair had been transformed into beach waves that took way too much effort and hairspray. Zombie? More like zombie's prettier cousin who actually understood skincare.

She grabbed her phone – 12 new messages on the group chat. Everyone was already at Jason's house. The running commentary made her anxious: Jenna's bikini pics, Tyler's playlist drama, someone spilled Fanta on the concrete. Maya wasn't running late – she was procrastinating hard.

Three blocks from Jason's house, her brain short-circuited. What if she jumped in the pool and her makeup streamed down her face like a horror movie? What if her hair poofed into a frizz ball the second it hit humidity? What if everyone was already paired off and she spent three hours floating alone like a discarded pool noodle?

She turned around. Actually running away from her problems seemed like a solid life choice.

But then she heard splashing and laughter. And yeah, maybe it was lame, but she'd rather be awkward with friends than cool with nobody. She turned back around, phone vibrating with Jenna's text: "WHERE R U??"

The backyard was already chaos when she slipped through the gate. People cannonballing, music bumping, someone – definitely Tyler – trying to rap. Jason spotted her immediately, doing that awkward wave thing.

"Maya! Finally!" He tossed her a soda. "We were about to start Zombie Tag in the pool. You're It."

Wait. Zombie Tag? Actually brilliant. Her hair could get wrecked and nobody would care because they'd all look like drowned rats by round three. Sometimes the best way to survive high school was to just jump in the deep end and let yourself get absolutely obliterated by the metaphorical waves.

Maya smiled for real this time, kicked off her flip-flops, and cannonballed into the chaos.