The Last Hat Standing

My mom's vintage Lakers cap sat on my head like a neon sign screaming 'I TRY TOO HARD.' Which, honestly, fair. I'd been running around the party for twenty minutes, desperately trying to look like I belonged, when I literally ran into Jason.

"Whoa, chill," he said, catching me by the shoulders. His eyes dropped to my hat. "Nice fit. Retro vibe."

I felt my face burning. "Thanks. My mom gave it to me. Said I needed to bring some culture to this party."

He laughed. "Well, you're definitely bringing something. You've been running laps around everyone like you're training for a marathon."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to everyone," he said. "But hey, at least you're not a zombie like the rest of us." He gestured toward the living room, where half our grade was glued to their phones, faces bathed in blue light. "Social media has turned us all into the undead. No thoughts, just scrolling."

I cracked up. "Okay, that's honestly perfect."

"Wanna get some air?" he asked. "Before you literally run through another wall."

Outside, the air was finally cool enough to breathe. We sat on the porch steps while he told me about how he used to be the awkward freshman running track until he realized nobody actually cared what anyone else did.

"The hat though," he said, reaching out to touch the brim. "It's working for you. Maybe keep it. Own the cringe. That's the whole vibe anyway."

I smiled, actually relaxed for the first time all night. The weight on my head didn't feel like a sign anymore—it felt like armor.

"So," Jason said. "You coming back inside, or you gonna keep running away from the zombie apocalypse?"

"Inside," I said. "But I'm keeping the hat."

"Good," he said. "It looks better on you anyway."