The Zombie Hair Chronicles

Emma's brown curls hung in her face like a curtain she couldn't see through—which was honestly fitting, because she'd been going through her junior year like a literal zombie. The zombie thing wasn't even a joke anymore; she'd clocked exactly forty-three hours of sleep total in the past week.

"You look like you died three days ago," Maya said, sliding into the booth at Java House. "Wait, let me rephrase that—your hair looks like it died three weeks ago."

Emma flipped her off. Maya, her best friend since seventh grade, had been watching Emma spiral for months. The spiral had a name, and that name was Lucas, who sat two tables away looking annoyingly perfect with his stupid perfect haircut and his stupid perfect jawline.

Here's the thing about being seventeen: you're supposed to have your whole life figured out, but instead you're literally hiding behind a latte and spy-ing on your ex through the reflection of the café window while pretending to be normal.

"You know," Maya said, stealing Emma's phone, "this zombie act is getting old. Like, I'm genuinely concerned you're going to actually die from being dramatic."

"I'm fine," Emma said, not fine at all. "I just need my phone back."

"Nope." Maya tapped the screen. "You're not checking his story again. That's honestly pathetic, and I say that with love."

That's when Emma saw it—Lucas was getting up, walking toward their table, and her hair was a literal disaster zone because she'd forgotten to brush it for three days straight, which was what happened when you operated on forty-three total hours of sleep and a diet of anxiety.

"Hey," Lucas said, and Emma's heart did that stupid fluttery thing. "I, uh, wanted to ask if you're still coming to Jordan's party tonight?"

Emma stared. "What?"

"The party," he said, and then, with this half-smile that made everything worse: "You look... different. Good different."

Her zombie hair, apparently, was now considered good different. The universe was weird.

"Yeah," Maya cut in, "she's definitely going. And she's definitely not going to spend the next six hours overthinking everything you just said."

Lucas laughed. "Cool. See you tonight." He walked away, and Emma's heart was still doing gymnastics.

"Okay," Maya said, handing back her phone. "You're still a zombie, but at least you're a zombie with a party invitation. Now let's go fix that hair before you actually scare people."