The Sphinx of Sector 7

The apocalypse could wait. Marcus's zombie-green eyes glued to his iPhone screen, thumbs flying across glass as zombies shambled toward his fortified bunker in pixelated waves. Around him, the cafeteria noise was a wall of sound—laughter, gossip, the unmistakable clatter of social warfare he'd mostly opted out of since his dad left.

"You gonna eat that?"

Marcus blinked. Sasha Chen, senior and undisputed queen of Sector 7 (the cool table area), stood there holding an orange. Like, literally holding it—no phone, no friends, just this perfect orange sphere in manicured fingers that usually scrolled Instagram.

"Uh, sure." Marcus pushed his tray forward.

She sat down. Across from him. At the reject table. His heart performed the kind of complicated gymnastics routine that only happens when someone completely out of your league suddenly enters your atmosphere.

"My dog's dying," Sasha said, peeling the orange with casual precision. "Buster. Had him since I was seven."

"I'm... sorry?" Marcus ventured, because what do you say to that?

"Everyone keeps saying that." Sasha's perfectly maintained facade cracked—just for a second, but Marcus caught it. "They don't get it. He's not 'just a dog.' He's the one who..." She shook her head. "Whatever. You're good at riddles, right? I've seen you in math club. You're like the sphinx of that group."

"The sphinx?"

"You know—mysterious, smart, kind of terrifying?" She actually smiled, and it was like watching the sun come out. "Okay, here's my riddle: What's the one thing you can't download on your iPhone, no matter how many bars you have?"

Marcus thought about it. Really thought, while zombies moaned forgottenly on his neglected screen. The answer came to him, sudden and certain as orange scent blooming between them.

"Time."

Sasha's smile widened into something genuine. "Exactly. We spend so much time scrolling through other people's moments, we forget to live our own." She slid him a perfect orange wedge. "Buster taught me that. Every walk, every game of fetch—he was always so present, you know?"

Marcus looked at his iPhone, then at Sasha, who'd somehow made herself human in five minutes flat. "Want to come over after school?" he heard himself say. "We can play Zombie Apocalypse Split-Screen. I promise to go easy on you."

"You're on, Sphinx Boy." Sasha popped an orange wedge into her mouth. "But just so you know—I never go easy."

As the bell rang, Marcus realized something: maybe the real apocalypse wasn't happening on his screen. Maybe it was the small deaths we die every day choosing pixels over people. And maybe, just maybe, he was done being a zombie.

He pocketed his phone. For real this time.