The Social Zombie Survival Guide

My palms were sweating so bad I could barely grip the door handle. Classic. First actual party since forever, and I was already questioning every life choice that led here.

Outside, Bear—my rescue lab who'd been my entire social circle for two years—whined from the backseat. "Just text me, buddy," I muttered, though Bear couldn't work an iPhone. I'd left a window cracked and his favorite blanket. He'd be fine.

Fine. Like I was definitely going to be.

Inside, Jordan's house thudded with bass that I could feel in my teeth. People everywhere. People who knew how to people. I pulled out my phone to check—escape plan? No. Just... checking.

"Yo, Marcus!" Jordan appeared, somehow coordinating a backwards hat and total confidence. "Glad you made it."

"Yeah, thanks for inviting me."

"Bro, you look like a zombie," he laughed, but not mean. It was barely 8 PM. How were people already this vibing?

"Long week," I said.

"Hey, Maya's in the kitchen. She asked about you."

Maya. The girl I'd been secretly messaging for months but never actually talked to because talking is terrifying and messaging has backspace.

I moved toward the kitchen like I was walking through invisible molasses. My palms were basically waterfalls now. I thought about Bear waiting in the car, probably curled around his blanket like he always did when I left him. Dogs get it. They don't fake it. They're either excited or they're not.

Maya was stirring something in a red solo cup. She looked up and actually smiled.

"Hey! Zombie boy, finally."

"That's me," I said, and for some reason, my voice didn't crack.

"Wanna help me sabotage this punch?" She held up a bottle of something suspicious. "Jordan thinks it's fancy soda."

I grinned. "Bear witness."

She laughed—actually laughed—and the zombie fog cleared. I still had no idea what I was doing, but for the first time all night, my palms felt dry enough to risk it.