The Zombie I Could've Kissed

My palms were sweating so bad I could barely grip the zombie makeup kit. 'You look terrifying, Maya,' Chloe said, slapping green face paint on my cheek. 'Totally. Like, undead goals.'

I didn't feel terrifying. I felt like a zombie in the worst way – the kind that shows up to school Monday morning after zero sleep, scrolling through Instagram while life happens around you. But Caleb would be here. Caleb with the messy dark hair and the smile that made my stomach do gymnastics. So here I was, at the charity zombie 5K, looking like the walking dead but hoping to catch the living's eye.

The race started and I took off running, my zombie cape flapping behind me. Two miles in, I rounded a corner near the palm trees and stopped dead.

Caleb was there, alone, sitting on a bench and wiping off his zombie makeup. His face was half-clean, half-rotting flesh. He looked... exhausted. Like, deep down exhausted.

'Maya?' He jumped. 'Oh, uh, hey.'

I felt like I'd been caught spying. 'Sorry! I was just –'

'No, it's chill.' He gestured to the empty space beside him. 'My mom made me sign up for this. Said it'd be "good for my social development."'

I sat down, careful not to smudge my zombie army green. 'My friends too. They said it'd be "fun."'

Caleb laughed, and it was the most real sound I'd heard from him all semester. 'I hate this stuff sometimes. Everyone performing, you know?'

The words spilled out before I could stop them. 'Yeah. Sometimes I feel like I'm just walking through everything half-alive. Like a zombie but worse, because at least zombies don't know they're missing out.'

Caleb looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time all year. 'Exactly.'

We sat there while other runners thudded past, two zombies taking a break from the race. My palms stopped sweating.

'You know,' Caleb said, 'you're actually pretty cool when you're not trying so hard.'

'That's literally the most backhanded compliment I've ever gotten.'

He grinned. 'I mean it as a good thing.' He stood up and held out his hand – palm open, an invitation. 'Want to finish this thing? For real this time?'

I took his hand. His palm was warm against mine. 'Yeah. Let's do this.'

We ran the last mile side by side, zombie paint streaking with sweat, and I didn't feel dead at all. I felt alive for the first time in forever.