Screen Zombies at Midnight

The party was supposed to be lit, but honestly? I felt like a zombie scrolling through an endless feed of nothing. Maya's pool party had everything — blinding underwater LEDs, Spotify bass vibrating through the deck, and way too many people from sophomore year crammed into a backyard that definitely violated fire codes.

"Stop doomscrolling," my best friend Chloe said, snatching my iPhone from my grip. She shoved it into her swimsuit like she was hiding contraband. "You're literally missing everything."

"I'm not missing anything," I muttered, but she was right. The pool glittered like someone had dumped a galaxy into chlorinated water, and somewhere nearby I heard Tyler's laugh — that genuine, unguarded sound he only made when he thought no one was listening. The same Tyler who'd left me on read for three days.

"Just jump in already," Chloe said, and before I could protest, she shoved me.

The water hit like ice. I came up sputtering while half the party cheered like I'd just won gold at the Olympics. That's when the first crack of lightning split the sky — violet tendrils illuminating everything in stark, beautiful horror.

"Everyone out!" Maya's dad shouted from the back door. "Storm's moving in fast."

We scrambled for towels, dripping and breathless, someone's phone blaring an alarm that sounded exactly like impending doom. I found myself squeezed onto the porch swing next to Tyler, both of us shivering in our soaked hoodies, watching the lightning flicker closer and closer.

"Sorry I didn't text back," he said so quietly I almost missed it. "Family stuff. You know how it is."

"Yeah," I said, because I did know. "But you could've just said that."

"I know," he said, and the second lightning strike hit so close the whole world went white. In that flash, I saw his face — really saw it, without any filters or curated captions or performative indifference. Just him, messy hair and anxious eyes and the faintest smile like he was relieved I was still there.

Maybe the zombies weren't the ones with their faces in screens. Maybe the zombies were the ones who forgot how to look up and see the lightning. Maybe we'd all been a little dead, just waiting for something to shake us awake.

"I'm glad you're here," I said, and I meant it.

The storm broke — rain flooding down in sheets, warm and wild, and somewhere in the chaos, Chloe threw my iPhone into a dry towel, but I didn't reach for it. Some things are better unrecorded.