The Zombie in the Mirror

The cafeteria hummed with that Friday-before-break energy, everyone vibrating on their phones like lit-up zombies in a horror movie I'd definitely stream later. I caught my reflection in the window—dead eyes, slack jaw, thumb scrolling through an endless feed of people living lives way cooler than mine. No cap, I looked exactly like the walking dead.

"Yo, Maya, you good?"

I jumped, nearly dropping my tray. Jayden stood there, actual concern on his face instead of the usual whatever expression everyone wore between notifications. We'd been best friends since middle school, but lately I'd been ghosting him hard. Not on purpose, but also totally on purpose.

"Yeah, just... tired."

He slid into the seat across from me, dropping his phone face down on the table like it was nothing. That's when I noticed—his screen was cracked, like actually destroyed. Spiderweb city.

"What happened to your iPhone? That thing was your life."

Jayden shrugged, but something about it felt different. Not his usual I'm-over-it vibe, but something real. "Got it taken away. My parents found my alt account and went full nuclear."

I froze. He'd shown me that account—fake name, fake age, him posting those raw, honest poems he'd never let IRL people see. The ones about how much he hated pretending to be someone he wasn't.

"Damn. That's rough."

"Yeah. But honestly?" He leaned in, voice dropping. "I feel kind of... free? Like, I was this zombie, right? Just feeding on likes and validation, starving for something real but too scared to reach for it. And then—boom—forced detox."

He looked at my phone, still glowing in my hand. "What are you even looking at?"

I glanced down. Some influencer's story I didn't care about. A stranger's breakfast. A meme I'd already seen three times today.

"Nothing."

"Then why are you looking at it?"

The question hung there, heavier than it should've been. Outside, the bell rang. People started filing out, heads still down, still scrolling, still dead to the world around them.

I turned my phone off.

The screen went black.

And for the first time in forever, I actually saw my friend. Really saw him—the crinkle in his forehead when he was thinking deep thoughts, the way he played with his zipper when he was nervous about saying something real.

"Wanna walk to class?" I asked.

Jayden smiled, and it wasn't filtered or curated or performed for an audience. Just genuine.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I do."

We walked out together, two un-undead teens in a world full of zombies, and for once, I didn't feel dead at all.