The Zombie Apocalypse of Friday Night

I looked like a zombie. Not the cool, intentional kind from Instagram—more like I'd been resurrected after three days of AP History cramming and zero sleep. My hair was doing that thing where it defied gravity in three different directions, and my eyes had that special glazed-over look that says 'I'm physically here but mentally calculating my GPA.'

"Dude, you good?" Marcus asked, scrolling on his phone without looking up. We were supposed to be studying, but the cable internet had decided to commit suicide twenty minutes ago.

"I'm functioning on caffeine and spite," I said, pouring myself another mug of the murky energy drink that had been fueling my entire existence since finals week began.

That's when Barnaby—my neighbor's obese orange tabby—decided to grace us with his presence. The cat squeezed through the doggy door like a fuzzy, judgmental loaf of bread, hopped onto my calculus notes, and immediately started purring so loudly he sounded like a broken lawnmower.

"Great," I sighed. "Now even the neighborhood pets are here to witness my academic decline."

Marcus actually laughed. Not his usual half-chuckle, but a real laugh. "Bro, that cat has more swagger than both of us combined."

Without wifi, we couldn't escape into our phones or pretend we were doing something productive. The silence between us felt heavy, loaded with all the things we never said—how much pressure we felt, how we were both terrified of not getting into our dream colleges, how sometimes we just wanted to sleep for a week straight.

"I'm scared I'm not gonna make it," I admitted, the words slipping out before I could catch them. "Like, what if I do all this and still fail? What if I'm just pretending to be smart?"

Marcus set his phone down. For the first time all evening, he really looked at me. "You know what's crazy? I literally had that exact thought this morning. Like, what if everyone else knows something I don't? What if I'm the only one who's totally lost?"

Barnaby chose that moment to knock my highlighter off the table, batting it across the floor like it was his job.

"I think that cat's trying to tell us something," Marcus said, smiling. "Maybe that we're overthinking everything."

"Or that we need better cat toys."

"Same difference."

We spent the next hour just talking—really talking—about everything except school. The cable still wasn't fixed, but for the first time in forever, I didn't feel like a zombie anymore. I felt seen. And honestly? That was worth more than any A on a test.