The Night I Came Alive at Riley's Pool

The invitations had been circulating all week on Snapchat, each one more desperate than the last. Riley's end-of-summer pool party. The social event of the season. And I, Maya Chen, had been paralyzed by the decision for six days straight.

"You're going, right?" Jordan asked, sprawled across my bed while I stared at my iPhone like it held the secrets to the universe. "Everyone's gonna be there."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," I muttered, refreshing Instagram for the fiftieth time. "What if I say something weird? What if I forget how to human?"

"You've been watching way too many zombie movies," Jordan said, stealing my phone and tossing it onto the pile of clothes I'd been stress-cleaning. "You're not actually going to turn into one if someone talks to you. Probably."

The night of the party, I stood outside Riley's gate for ten full minutes, listening to the muffled bass and splashing laughter, working myself into the kind of panic attack that feels exactly like dying but less dramatic. Then I saw Caleb—the boy I'd been lowkey obsessed with since seventh grade—walking toward me, baseball cap turned backwards, holding two sodas like he was nervous too.

"Hey," he said, and his voice cracked. Actual crack. "I was, uh, hoping you'd come."

My brain turned to mush. Complete zombie mode.

"I—yeah," I managed, which was practically Shakespearean given my current state of internal combustion. "Thanks. For the... soda."

We ended up sitting on the pool edge, feet in the water, talking about everything and nothing while the party raged behind us. Caleb admitted he'd skipped baseball practice to make sure he got to the party early enough to catch me. I confessed I'd changed outfits seven times. We laughed about how everyone thought we were both so cool and collected when really we were just faking it, constantly.

"You know what?" Caleb said, bumping my shoulder with his. "I think everyone's kind of a zombie. Just walking around pretending they know what they're doing."

"Pretty sure that's the most intelligent thing anyone's said all summer," I said, and when he laughed, I finally felt something unlock in my chest.

Later, when Riley cannonballed into the pool and soaked my favorite jacket, I didn't even care. Caleb helped me wring it out, his hands brushing mine, and I thought maybe—just maybe—being terrified was worth it.

My iPhone buzzed in my wet pocket later that night. A text from Caleb: "Same time next weekend? No pool this time, I promise."

I stared at the screen, grinning like an idiot, and replied: "I'm in. No promises about not being a zombie though."

Some things, I decided, were worth the risk of falling apart for. Especially if they helped you piece yourself back together better than before.