The Zombie Apocalypse

I'd been moving through junior year like a zombie for months. Homework until 2 AM, AP classes, college applications looming like storm clouds on the horizon. My parents called it "grind season." I called it survival.

Then came Taylor's pool party—the social event of the spring. I stood by the edge of the water in my too-expensive swimsuit, clutching a red Solo cup like it was a lifeline. Everyone looked so effortless. Jenna was doing cannonballs off the diving board. Marcus and Skylar were being disgustingly cute in the shallow end.

Meanwhile, I was basically a walking corpse. I'd forgotten how to have fun somewhere between AP Bio and SAT prep.

That's when Buster, Taylor's elderly golden retriever, decided to make his entrance. This dog was ancient—arthritis, cloudy eyes, the works. But nobody told Buster he was supposed to be retired.

He spotted me standing alone by the water, looking like I'd rather be anywhere else. Maybe he sensed a fellow introvert. Maybe he just wanted someone to throw his tennis ball.

Instead, Buster launched himself into the pool with surprising grace.

Chaos erupted. Jenna screamed. Marcus slipped trying to grab him. Water splashed everywhere. And Buster? He was doggy-paddling toward me like I was his new best friend.

Something cracked inside me. I laughed—really laughed, for the first time in months. I waded into the water, clothes and all, and helped haul the soaking wet dog to safety.

"You're officially my favorite person," Taylor said, tossing me a towel. "Buster hasn't jumped in since he was a puppy."

Later, drying off in the sun while Buster snoozed at my feet, I realized something. Being a zombie wasn't a permanent state. Sometimes you just needed a dog to jump in a pool to wake you up.

I was still exhausted. Junior year still sucked. But at least I wasn't sleepwalking through it anymore.