The Summer I Went Zombie

The first time I felt like a zombie, I was standing at the deep end of Jessica Miller's backyard pool, clutching a red Solo cup like it was a lifeline. Everyone around me was moving in that weird, synchronized way teenagers do at parties — laughing, splashing, existing like I'd forgotten how.

"Marcus! You good, bro?" That was Tyler, sliding up beside me with that effortless confidence I'd been trying to fake since seventh grade. "You've been staring at the water for twenty minutes. You look... dead, man."

I forced a laugh. "Just tired, dude. Long week."

That's when it happened — Cara Lewis, who I'd been lowkey obsessing over since she transferred to North High, cannonballed into the pool. Her iPhone, which she'd been clutching like everyone does these days, flew out of her hand and sank toward the bottom like a tiny, expensive stone.

The collective gasp was audible. Cara surfaced, dripping wet, panic written all over her face. "My phone! My life is literally ON THAT PHONE!"

Before I could think it through, I dove. The water shocked me awake, cool and shocking against my skin, and there it was — glowing faintly at the bottom like some kind of underwater treasure. I grabbed it and pushed upward, breaking the surface with a gasp.

Everyone was staring. Cara swam over, eyes wide. "Oh my god, Marcus, you literally saved my life."

"It's just a phone," I said, but I was grinning like an idiot.

"No, it's NOT just a phone," she said, splashing water at me. "My mom would literally kill me. You're my hero now."

And then something shifted. The zombie feeling faded, replaced by something warm and real in my chest. Later that night, when my golden retriever, Buster, greeted me at the door with his usual enthusiastic tail-wagging routine, I realized I hadn't felt dead at all — I'd just been waiting to feel alive again.

Sometimes you have to dive into the deep end to remember you know how to swim.