The Zombie Among Us

Jake felt like a **zombie** walking through sophomore year—dead inside, barely functioning, surviving on caffeine and three hours of sleep. His life was a nightmare loop of swim practice at 5 AM, AP classes that made his brain hurt, and trying to look cool in the cafeteria while failing spectacularly.

"Bro, you look like you died three days ago," Marcus said, slamming his tray down next to Jake. "What's up with you?"

"Life," Jake muttered, poking at his lunch. "And my mom's on this health kick again."

His tray contained a depressing salad with enough **spinach** to feed a small rabbit colony. It was humiliating. Meanwhile, Marcus had actual pizza—the good kind from the cafeteria line, not the sad personal pan Jake's mom packed because "processed foods will kill you before you're twenty."

"Dude, just tell her you're gonna die anyway," Marcus said, stealing a spinach leaf and making a face like he'd licked a sidewalk. "This tastes like sadness and grass."

Jake snorted. "Tried that. She said at least I'll die with clear skin."

After school, Jake had **swimming** practice—two hours of smelling like chlorine and having his abs judged by everyone in the locker room. He wasn't even good. Just ... adequate. Coach kept saying he had "potential," which was adult code for "you try hard and we feel bad cutting you."

Practice ended late, which meant Jake had to rush home to walk his neighbor's **dog** before Mrs. Henderson left for her bingo night. Barnaby was a golden retriever with more energy than sense and a tendency to drag Jake through the neighborhood while Jake's social standing died a little more with each passing yard.

"I see you're still being kidnapped by that horse," Chloe called from her driveway. She was leaning against her mom's BMW, looking effortless in a way that made Jake's stomach do gymnastics.

"He likes me," Jake said, trying to sound cool while being literally pulled down the street by an overenthusiastic dog.

"You coming to Kai's party Friday?"

Jake's heart kicked. "Maybe. If my parents don't find something else to ruin."

They wouldn't. They never did. His house still had **cable**—like, actual cable with channels and commercials and everything—while everyone else streamed Netflix on-demand. The last time he'd had friends over, someone had asked what the weird box was, and Jake had to explain basic cable like it was an artifact from the Mesozoic era.

But Friday came anyway, and Jake showed up at Kai's house feeling like he'd stepped into a parallel universe where everyone knew the secret handshake except him. The music was too loud, people were paired off in corners, and suddenly Jake was standing alone by the snacks, holding a solo cup like it contained the antidote.

"Hey," Chloe said, appearing beside him. "Having fun?"

"Absolutely," Jake lied. "I love standing here awkwardly while everyone pretends to be cooler than they actually are."

Chloe laughed—actually laughed, not fake polite laughed. "You know what's weird? I've been coming to these things for two years, and I still feel like a zombie."

Jake looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the same nervous energy he felt every day reflected in her eyes.

"Me too," he said, and something shifted between them. "Wanna go outside? It's loud in here."

They ended up on the front porch, talking about nothing and everything—about swim practice and how much it sucked, about their parents' weird food obsessions, about feeling like they were missing some secret manual for being sixteen.

"My dog's better than most people here," Jake said at one point.

Chloe smiled. "I bet." She paused. "You know what? You're actually pretty funny when you're not trying to be cool."

Jake's face got hot. "I'm never trying to be cool. That implies I have a chance."

"You never know," she said, and Jake couldn't tell if she meant it or if he was projecting, but for the first time in forever, the zombie feeling faded, replaced by something lighter. Something like hope.

Maybe sophomore year wouldn't kill him after all.