The Art of Unrotting

Two weeks after Maya dumped me via Spotify collaborative playlist (she removed my songs, left hers—that was the message), I was fully zombie mode. Moving through junior year like my brain had been eaten, leaving behind this shell that went to AP Bio and ate lunch alone.

Then I saw her with him. Fox. Actual human named Fox Reynolds, with orange-red hair and this face that belonged in movies where everyone's inexplicably hot. They were by the water fountains, Fox laughing at something Maya said, hand resting near hers but not touching—yet. I felt rotten all over, like I'd been left out too long.

"You look like you need this," said Lena, sliding into the seat next to me at our usual bench. She held out a bright orange gummy vitamin C. "Post-breakup immune system support. My mom's a nurse, she says heartbreak literally lowers your white blood cells."

I took it. "Is that real or are you making up science to be nice?"

"Both," Lena grinned. "But also, Fox is a total player. He went through three sophomores last semester. The rotation is real."

Something unclenched in my chest. Not everything, but enough.

Later, I found myself at the pool—Maya's domain, where she'd been captain since freshman year. I sat on the bleachers watching practice, the smell of chlorine thick and chemical, pulling me back to last year's regional finals when I'd cheered louder than anyone. But the water looked different now. Less like something that defined her, more like just... water.

Maya pulled herself out of the pool, dripping wet, Fox sitting two rows up from me, watching her like she was the only thing worth seeing. I stood up and my flip-flop caught on the metal bench, making this embarrassingly loud SCREECH.

Everyone looked. Maya. Fox. The whole swim team.

Instead of dying, I started laughing. Like, actually cracking up. Lena, who'd somehow appeared beside me, joined in. We sat there cackling while everyone stared, and the best part was—I didn't even care what they thought.

"You good?" Lena asked, still grinning.

"Yeah," I said, and it wasn't even a lie. "Actually, yeah."

The zombie feelings weren't gone, but they were fading, like a bruise turning from purple to green to yellow. I took out my earbuds, put on a playlist Maya had never touched, and walked out of there like I owned the place.

Fox could have Maya. I was busy learning how to be myself again.