The Night We Didn't Die

The pool lights glowed green through the water, making everything look underwater even above the surface. I floated on my back, staring up at the stars, pretending I didn't care that my friend group had splintered into something unrecognizable since freshman year ended.

"You're missing it," Maya called from the pool's edge. She was actually watching the stupid cable marathon we'd put on—some ancient zombie movie marathon that neither of us was really paying attention to. Her legs dangled in the water, creating ripples that reached me in slow motion.

I swam over, water slick against my skin. "Zombie movies are dumb. They always run in stupid patterns. No survival instinct whatsoever."

"That's the point," she said, tossing me a towel. "They're not thinking anymore. They're just... hungry. Mindless." She paused, giving me that look that meant she was about to say something real. "Like baseball practice today. You went full zombie out there."

I hated that she noticed. The baseball coach had been screaming about fundamentals, about focus, about how I'd dropped that easy catch in right field because I was too busy wondering why Jake and his new friends hadn't invited me to the party on Saturday. I'd gone through the motions, swinging when told, running when necessary, but my head had been somewhere else entirely.

"Whatever," I said, which is what I always said when she was right.

Maya's phone buzzed. She read something and her face went weirdly still. "Jake just posted. The party was busted. Someone's parents came home early. Everyone hiding in closets like—"

"Zombies," I finished.

She laughed, and it was the first genuine laugh I'd heard all summer. "Exactly. Running in stupid patterns. No survival instinct."

The cable marathon droned on in the background—shambling figures, terrible screams, cheap dramatic music. But out here, under the stars, with chlorine drying on my skin and Maya grinning like she knew something I didn't, I didn't feel like a zombie anymore.

"You know what's actually scary?" she asked.

"What?"

"That we spent all year worrying about fitting in with people who don't even know who we really are." She stood up, water dripping from her legs. "I'm hungry. Let's raid your kitchen. And no more zombie movies tonight. Let's watch something where people actually, you know, think."

I followed her inside, dripping wet, feeling more awake than I had in months. The party I'd missed didn't matter. The baseball disaster didn't matter. I had a friend who saw through the zombie act, and somehow, that was enough.