The Friend Who Wouldn't Leave

My best friend since third grade, Leo, had officially become a zombie. Not the brain-eating kind—though sometimes I wondered—but the phone-scrolling, meme-spewing, barely-conscious variety that had taken over half our sophomore class.

"Dude, did you see my Snap?" Leo mumbled, eyes glued to his screen as we walked Max, my golden retriever, through the park. Max yanked the leash toward a squirrel, practically breaking my wrist. Typical.

"Leo, you've sent me seventy-two Snaps today. I'm drowning here," I said, trying to sound chill but actually kind of desperate. "Since when did we become those people who can't go three minutes without documenting our existence?"

He finally looked up. Max chose that exact moment to shake himself vigorously, spraying pond water all over Leo's pristine white sneakers.

"MY NEW JORDANS!" Leo howled. And just like that, the zombie facade cracked. My actual friend emerged—dramatic, petty, and fully alive.

I started laughing. I couldn't help it. There was something so beautifully pathetic about Leo doing a tragedy dance over wet shoes while Max wagged his tail like he'd just won the Nobel Prize.

"What are you laughing at?" Leo demanded, but then he started cracking up too. We stood there, two idiots in a park, losing it over wet shoes and a dog who looked way too pleased with himself.

"Bro," I said, wiping my eyes. "Remember when we were kids and we'd spend hours making up stupid games? Now we're just... existing."

Leo was quiet for a second. Then, surprisingly, he pocketed his phone. "Let's make today glitch. Let's be actual weirdos again."

"We're already weirdos," I pointed out.

"Weirder weirdos. Like, let's walk Max to that old ice cream place and order one scoop with three spoons. Let's play that we're secretly aliens investigating earth's frozen dairy."

Max barked, like, *finally, something interesting.*

So we did. And somewhere between the alien conspiracy theories and brain freeze and Max trying to befriend everyone's legs, something shifted. The zombie haze lifted, replaced by something I hadn't felt in forever—present. Real. My friend wasn't gone. We'd both just forgotten how to be there.