The Night I Felt Alive

Leo adjusted his fedora—yes, a fedora, because 14-year-old him thought it made him look mysterious—and stared at the backyard pool. Someone had dumped an entire bag of ice in it, and it bobbed like tiny icebergs in chlorinated sea.

"Leo!" Maya called from the patio. "Get over here, zombie boy."

He'd been up until 3 AM playing Dead Frontier again. His mom said he'd rot his brain, but what did she know? At least in the apocalypse, nobody expected you to make conversation with pretty girls while wearing sunscreen that smelled like coconut despair.

He shuffled toward the food table, where someone's mom had arranged spinach artichoke dip like it was fine cuisine. Leo spooned some onto a chip, caught his reflection in the patio door, and practically died. Spinach. Wedged between his front teeth. Of course.

He ducked toward the bathroom, hat pulled low, when something caught his eye through the sliding glass door. Inside the house, on a side table, a goldfish bowl glowed in the ambient light. The fish stared back, glassy-eyed, like it understood. Like it knew what it was like to just swim in circles while everyone else was having the time of their lives.

"Nice hat," said a voice behind him.

Leo spun around. It was Sam, the quiet kid from English class who drew anime in the margins of everything. Sam was wearing a shirt that said CHOOSE YOUR Fighter with a pixelated cat.

"It's not ironic," Leo said, then immediately wanted to die.

Sam grinned. "I know. That's the worst part." He gestured toward the door. "Wanna get out of here? There's a spot down the street where we can throw rocks at the old factory fence. It's way better than standing around watching people fake-laugh."

The goldfish continued its endless circles.

Leo took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. He could stay here, floating like an iceberg in someone else's pool, pretending to be someone he wasn't. Or he could actually live.

"Yeah," said Leo. "Let's go."