The Zombie in the Converse Hat

I was operating on pure caffeine and zero sleep when Jordan leaned against my locker during third period.

"You look like a zombie," she said, grinning. That was Jordan—always brutal, never boring.

"Thanks," I managed. "Three hours of sleep. Goldfish have better memories than I do right now."

"You coming to Tyler's party tonight?"

I froze. Parties weren't exactly my element. My social skills ranked somewhere between "awkward silence" and "accidentally insults someone's mom." But Jordan was looking at me with those eyes that made my palms sweat, and suddenly I heard myself say, "Yeah. Totally."

**Bull.** Absolute bull. I'd rather eat glass.

By 9 PM, I stood outside Tyler's house wearing my lucky beanie—black, with a tiny Converse logo on the side—and feeling like I'd wandered into the wrong dimension. The bass was already thumping through the walls. My heart was doing that thing where it forgets how to heart correctly.

Then I saw her.

Jordan sat on the back porch steps, alone, nursing a Coke and staring at the sky like it had personally wronged her.

I sat beside her. My palms were sweating so bad I could practically grow palm trees at this point.

"Hiding?" I asked.

"Observing," she corrected. "Parties are weird. Everyone performing. Nobody real."

I nodded. "I saw five people who claimed they were "totally fine" while clearly having the worst night of their life. It's like mass denial."

She laughed, and something in my chest did a little flip.

"Hey," she said, "remember that goldfish we won at the carnival in sixth grade? The one that lived for like, four years?"

"Bubbles," I said. "Rest in peace."

"We thought he'd last a week," she said softly. "Sometimes things surprise you."

She took off her snapback and set it between us. Her hair was messy in that way that looked perfect somehow.

"I like your hat," she said, nodding at my beanie.

"I like yours better."

"Trade?"

We swapped hats in the moonlight. Mine looked ridiculous on her. Hers looked perfect on me.

"You know," she said, "you're not actually like other guys. You're not full of bull."

"Is that good?"

"It's everything."

The party raged inside. But out there on those steps, wearing her hat and finally not feeling like a zombie anymore, I realized something: sometimes the scariest places lead to the best moments. And sometimes, just sometimes, you survive.

Weird night. Best night.