The Night I Stopped Being a Zombie

I was officially a **zombie**. Not the cool, Netflix kind that eats brains and wears ripped flannel. The boring kind — the kind that spends three hours every night doomscrolling through Instagram while my room gets dark around me.

"Maya, dinner!" my mom yelled from downstairs.

"Not hungry," I muttered, thumb still scrolling past photos of people doing actual things with their lives.

Three months ago, my best friend Lily and I had been inseparable. We'd finish each other's sentences, share headphones during math, spend entire weekends watching terrible reality TV. Now she was hanging with the popular crowd, posting aesthetic photos at parties I wasn't invited to. And I was here, watching from the outside, feeling like the world had moved on without me.

That's when I started **spying** on her.

Not like, following-her-around spying. That would be creepy. But I checked her socials way too much. I knew exactly who she was with, what she was doing, where she ate. It was like I was still part of her life, except I wasn't. The ghost of friendship past, haunting her Instagram stories.

**Swimming** practice was the worst. We'd been on the team together since freshman year. Now she'd laugh with the other girls in the locker room while I changed in the bathroom stall. The pool water felt colder somehow. My laps were lonelier.

Then came the **cat**.

I found him behind the dumpster at school. Scrawny, matted orange fur, one ear that wouldn't stand up straight. He hissed at me, and I kind of respected that. At least he was honest about not wanting me around.

I started bringing him lunch meat from my sandwich. He started actually waiting for me. We had this thing — I'd talk, he'd eat, occasionally blink at me. It was weirdly therapeutic. I told him about Lily. About feeling like I didn't fit in anywhere anymore. About how high school was basically just waiting to become a real person.

"You're a good listener, Carl," I said, naming him on day three.

Carl bit my finger.

"Okay, fair."

The breakthrough happened at Sarah's party — the one I wasn't going to go to, until my mom literally had to push me out the door.

I walked in, phone in my pocket, heart beating way too fast. Lily was there, laughing with those same girls from swim team. I turned to leave, but then I saw Carl. Okay, not Carl-Carl, but there was a cat outside on the porch. A different one. But still.

I went outside to pet it.

"Hey, Maya?"

I turned around. Lily was standing there, alone for once.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual.

"I've been meaning to..." She took a breath. "I miss you. The popular crowd is actually kind of exhausting. I feel like I'm performing all the time."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah. I see you checking my stories." She smiled a little. "I've been waiting for you to say something."

"I thought you moved on."

"I thought you hated me."

We stood there for a second, then both started laughing. The cat decided we were too loud and left.

"Want to get food tomorrow?" Lily asked. "Just us?"

"Yeah," I said, and I actually meant it. "Yeah, I'd really like that."

That night, I didn't open Instagram once. I just lay in bed feeling... okay. Maybe being a **friend** again was better than being a zombie. And Carl would be proud — I'd finally stopped watching from the sidelines.

Next time I saw him, I brought extra turkey. He still bit me, but I think it was his way of saying thanks.