The Living Dead of Summer

I looked like death warmed over, which honestly wasn't far from the truth. Three hours of sleep + infinite scroll at 2 AM + summer pool party = absolute zombie mode. My cousin's text had been clear enough: "pool party, 2pm, be there or be square," but Maya's social gatherings always required energy reserves I simply didn't possess.

"You look..." Jayden started, then stopped himself. Smart move.

"Like I've been mainlining caffeine for 72 hours?" I finished for him. "Spot on."

He laughed, which was encouraging since Jayden was basically the king of Maya's friend group—tall, easy confidence, the kind of guy who didn't overthink every single interaction like I did. We were standing by the deep end where the air smelled like chlorine and sunscreen and judgment.

"You going in?" he asked.

I looked at the water—sparkling, inviting, and absolutely terrifying. The swimsuit situation alone was enough to make me want to dissolve into the patio furniture. But then again, so was standing here conversationally stranded while everyone else splashed around like normal humans with normal social batteries.

"Eventually," I said. "Once I remember how to human."

Jayden nodded like this made perfect sense. "Same. I've been standing here psyching myself up for twenty minutes. Feels like there's an audience."

I glanced at him—really looked. The easy confidence seemed slightly cracked at the edges. Wait.

"You're nervous?"

"Dude, yes." He rubbed the back of his neck. "New swimsuit. My mom insisted it looked 'sporty.' I feel like I'm wearing a neon sign that says PLEASE EVALUATE MY AESTHETIC CHOICES."

I cracked up. Something about the king of cool admitting to basic teenage insecurity was incredibly grounding.

"Okay," I said. "We're doing this. Together. Operation zombie swim begins... now."

"On three?" he suggested.

"Three, two, one—"

We jumped.

The cold was electric, shocking me awake in a way three iced coffees never could. When I surfaced, Jayden was already there, slicking his hair back, grinning.

"We're alive," he announced dramatically.

"Against all odds," I agreed.

"You know," he said, floating on his back, "I was literally about to fake a stomach ache and bail. But this is actually chill."

"Same," I said. "Like, surprisingly same."

We spent the next hour alternating between actual swimming and treading water while discussing everything from our mutual fear of Maya's relentlessly planned social events to our shared opinion that The Walking Dead jumped the shark after season five. By the time we dragged ourselves out, fingers wrinkled and exhausted in a good way, the zombie fog had lifted.

"Tomorrow," Jayden said, grabbing a towel, "we're getting food. My treat. You seem like someone who'd appreciate a solid diatribe about how zombie apocalypse survival plans are actually personality tests."

"I've already got my bunker location picked out," I told him.

"Perfect." He grinned. "See you at 2. Don't bail."

"Won't," I said, and for the first time all day, it was completely true.