Screen Dead

Maya felt like a zombie. Not the cool, Instagram-filter kind with dramatic under-eye circles and perfectly mussed hair. No, she was the actual walking dead version — surviving on three hours of sleep and whatever mysterious vitamin gummies her mom kept "accidentally" leaving on her desk. They tasted like radioactive strawberries and promised "enhanced focus" but mostly just made her tongue turn slightly blue.

Finals week at Northwood High was its own apocalypse, and Maya was barely surviving. Her iPhone had become an extension of her hand, its screen the only source of light in her increasingly dim world. TikToks at 2 AM. Study guides at 3 AM. Group chat convos that somehow lasted until sunrise.

"You look like death," Liam told her, sliding into the seat across from her in the cafeteria. "Like, actual death. But make it fashion."

Maya flipped him off, but it lacked its usual conviction. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Babe, you've been 'just tired' since November. It's June. The zombie look stopped being edgy months ago."

He wasn't wrong. Between AP exams, college applications, and her parents' increasingly pointed questions about her future plans, Maya had been running on fumes for months. The vitamin gummies weren't helping. Neither were the five energy drinks she'd consumed yesterday.

Then her phone died. Mid-text, mid-rant to her best friend about how she was spiraling. Just — dead.

The horror wasn't just being disconnected. It was the silence that followed.

Without her iPhone, Maya had to actually, terrifyingly, sit with her own thoughts. She had to look people in the eye. She had to notice things she'd been too busy scrolling to see.

Like how Liam's smile didn't quite reach his eyes lately.

Like how her dad's shoulders had become permanently hunched from stress.

Like how she couldn't remember the last time she'd done something just for herself.

"My phone died," she told Liam, panicking slightly. "I feel like I've lost a limb."

"Good," he said, and something in his voice made her look up. "Maybe now you can actually talk to me. Not with your thumbs."

So she did. They talked for hours. About everything and nothing. About how scared they were about graduating. About how fake everything felt sometimes. About how they were both tired of being zombies, just going through the motions.

When her phone finally turned back on that evening, Maya didn't immediately dive into her notifications. She left it facedown on her desk, letting it stay dead a little longer.

Some things, she realized, were better than fully charged.