The Zombie Friend Protocol

Maya stood against the wall at Tyler's party, nursing a papaya smoothie she'd impulsively grabbed from the kitchen counter because holding something—anything—made her look less like she was silently panicking and more like she was just ... chilling.

Her best friend Sarah had abandoned her twenty minutes ago to flirt with some junior from the lacrosse team, leaving Maya to navigate the crush of bodies alone. She adjusted her oversized bucket hat—her safety blanket, her armor, her literal shield against making eye contact with anyone.

"You look like you're mentally calculating your exit strategy," said a voice beside her.

Maya jumped. A guy in a faded zombie apocalypse t-shirt leaned against the wall, looking entirely too comfortable for someone at a high school party. His palms—why was she noticing his palms?—were relaxed at his sides.

"Observant," she said, then immediately regretted sounding so defensive. "I'm not great at ... this."

"Nobody is," he said. "We're all just pretending we don't feel like zombies half the time. That's why I wore this shirt—ironic detachment, you know?"

Maya actually laughed. "Zombie mode is basically my default setting since finals week started."

"Same. I'm Leo, by the way. Also formally a zombie, occasionally a functional human."

"Maya. Currently working on transitioning from zombie to functioning party guest."

They fell into easy conversation about zombie movies, surprisingly deep discussions about papaya (which Leo claimed was an underrated fruit), and the absolute absurdity of high school social hierarchies. Maya's palms stopped sweating. She forgot to adjust her hat every thirty seconds.

When Sarah finally reappeared, looking guilty, Maya waved her off.

"Go back to your lacrosse guy," she said. "I'm good."

And she meant it. Sometimes the best friendships weren't the ones you spent years cultivating, but the ones that started with two people acknowledging they were both just zombies trying to figure it out.