The Zombie and the Goldfish

I walked into Jake's party feeling like a literal zombie. My social battery had been at 1% since third period, and my mom's text—"Have fun! Be safe!"—was doing absolutely nothing to help. The house was already packed, seniors scattered everywhere like they owned the place, which I guess they kind of did.

The kitchen island had been transformed into a literal pyramid of red Solo cups, some kind of ridiculous drinking game setup. I grabbed a random appetizer from a platter, barely looking, and—big mistake—bit into what turned out to be spinach wrapped in puff pastry. Not just any spinach, but the kind that gets stubbornly stuck in your braces.

I spent ten minutes in the bathroom trying to dislodge green bits from my teeth with my tongue, questioning every life choice that led to this moment. When I finally emerged, I practically collided with Chloe, Jake's ex-girlfriend, who looked like she'd stepped out of a TikTok tutorial. Perfect eyeliner, perfect hair, perfect everything.

"You're hiding," she said, not even asking. She'd positioned herself strategically in the hallway, scrolling through her phone like she was too cool for the party she was technically hosting.

"Is it that obvious?" I mumbled.

She cracked a smile. "I've been there. This whole scene? It's exhausting. Jake's great, but sometimes he's about as deep as my brother's goldfish."

I laughed, surprised. "That's oddly specific."

"Trust me, I've spent way too much time watching that fish swim in literal circles. It's a whole mood." She checked her phone again. "I'm actually gonna bail. You want to come with? We could get actual food."

I hesitated. This was Chloe. The girl whose Instagram I'd been low-key stalking since freshman year. The girl who sat at the top of the school's social pyramid without even trying.

"Sure," I heard myself say. "But I have to warn you—I'm still recovering from the spinach incident."

"Spinach incident?" She raised an eyebrow, genuinely interested.

I explained. She laughed—an actual, genuine laugh that wasn't performative at all. We ended up at a diner until midnight, talking about everything and nothing. She admitted she felt like a zombie half the time too, just going through the motions of being "perfect." I told her about my cat back home, how he was the only one who didn't expect me to be someone I wasn't.

When my mom finally picked me up, I checked my phone. Chloe had followed me on Instagram.

"How was the party?" my mom asked.

I thought about the pyramid of cups I'd never used, the spinach stuck in my teeth, the goldfish comparison that somehow made sense. I thought about feeling like a zombie, then suddenly feeling more awake than I had in months.

"Actually," I said, smiling at my phone, "it was pretty epic."