Sweaty Palms and Zombie Dreams

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she could practically fill a water bottle. Standing at the edge of Jackson's backyard party, watching everyone else float effortlessly through conversations like they'd been practicing their whole lives, she felt like a zombie — dead inside, just going through the motions of being alive.

"You gonna stand there all night or actually say words?"

She jumped. It was Leo, leaning against the fence with that stupid crooked grin that made her stomach do weird gymnastics. His hair was messy in a way that looked accidental but definitely wasn't.

"I'm contemplating my existence," Maya shot back, then immediately regretted it. Who says that?

Leo laughed though, actual laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. "Deep. Also, that cat has been staring at you for like five minutes."

A calico cat had materialized on the outdoor couch, yellow eyes locked on Maya like she personally owed it money.

"That's Beans," Leo said. "My sister's cat. She's judging everyone. It's her whole personality."

"Relatable," Maya muttered.

"So," Leo said, pushing off the fence. "I heard you and Jordan had that massive fight about zombie apocalypse survival strategies."

Maya's face burned. "Jordan thinks a baseball bat is a practical weapon. I told him that's literally the worst choice — heavy, short range, requires you to get close to actual zombies. He called me a coward who'd die first."

"You're absolutely right," Leo said seriously. "Crowbar or nothing. Versatile, good reach, doubles as a tool. Baseball bat is amateur hour."

The way he said it — like her zombie apocalypse opinion was the most important thing in the world — made something shift in Maya's chest. Maybe she wasn't invisible after all. Maybe she wasn't just background character energy, forever watching from the edges while everyone else got to be the main character.

"Crowbar," she agreed, her heart doing something suspiciously like hope. "Exactly."

Leo held up his hand, palm open. "High five for good survival instincts."

Maya hesitated, then slapped her hand against his. Her palms were still sweaty, and she was pretty sure she'd just made everything weird, but Leo didn't pull away.

"You know," he said, "you're not as quiet as everyone thinks."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good," Leo said, and the way he looked at her made Maya feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn't a zombie anymore. "Definitely good."