The Zombie Glow-Up Protocol

Maya hadn't left her house in three weeks unless absolutely necessary. The zombie apocalypse had started and she was patient zero—not the flesh-eating kind, but the emotionally vacant variety that binged seven seasons of zombie shows on cable TV while her actual life rotted away.

"You're going to Jordan's pool party," her mom announced, sliding a neon orange bottle across the kitchen counter. "And take this. It's biotin. For your hair."

Maya glared at the vitamin supplement like it was poison. "My hair is fine."

"It's falling out in clumps because you're stressed and malnourished." Her mom's voice softened. "Please, Maya. I'm worried about you."

The guilt trip worked. Always did.

Saturday arrived with her hair frizzy from humidity and her stomach twisted in knots. She'd spent two hours trying to make it look effortless, which was ironic because she was absolutely Effortlessly Not Okay.

Jordan's backyard buzzed with life. People she used to know, now distant acquaintances after months of ghosting everyone's texts. The pool shimmered like liquid diamonds, and suddenly Maya was back in eighth grade, the girl who'd been too self-conscious to wear a swimsuit in public.

"Maya!" Jordan materialized, radiating the kind of genuine excitement that made Maya's chest ache. "I didn't think you'd come!"

"Me neither," Maya muttered.

"No pressure, but everyone's doing karaoke in the basement later. Please say you'll stay."

Around her, conversations flowed like water. People laughed, flirted, existed without seemingly questioning their own existence. Maya felt like she was watching everything through thick glass.

Then she saw him—Caleb, leaning against the fence with that casual gravity that made everyone orbit toward him. They'd shared a moment last year, at homecoming, something electric and undefined before she'd started her slow retreat into zombie mode.

Their eyes met. The look on his face wasn't pity or confusion or any of the nightmare scenarios she'd imagined. It was recognition.

"Maya." His voice warmed her name. "I've been texting you."

"I know." The truth tumbled out before she could stop it. "I just didn't know what to say."

"You could've started with 'hey.'" He stepped closer. "I missed you."

The pool water rippled in the background, catching sunlight. Maya's fingers touched the vitamin bottle in her pocket—stupid, ridiculous, and suddenly not so stupid after all.

"I missed me too," she said, and it was the most honest thing she'd spoken in months.

Caleb smiled, and for the first time in weeks, Maya felt something stir beneath the numbness. Not alive again, not exactly. But maybe, just maybe, waking up.