The Zombie in the Snapback

Maya's first high school house party was exactly as awkward as she'd imagined. The bass thumped against her ribs like a second, more aggressive heartbeat. She stood near the kitchen island, nursing a lukewarm soda and wishing she could vaporize into the drywall.

Then she saw him.

Across the room, Lucas—the cute junior from her English class—was wearing a faded black hat embroidered with some band logo she pretended to know. He moved through the crowd like he was sleepwalking, arms stiff at his sides, face completely blank. Someone shouted "LUCAS IS A ZOMBIE" and suddenly half the party was doing that jerky undead dance thing, because apparently that was still funny in 2026.

Maya didn't laugh. She noticed how Lucas's hand kept clenching and unclenching at his side, how his eyes kept darting toward the back door. Her palm got sweaty against her soda can.

She followed him outside.

Lucas sat on the back porch steps, hat pulled low. "They think I'm high," he muttered without looking up. "I'm not."

"I know," Maya said, sitting beside him. "You look like you're having a panic attack."

He laughed, short and sharp. "Is it that obvious? First party. Social anxiety's hitting different tonight."

"Same," Maya admitted. "I've been hovering near the snacks for forty-five minutes like a total loser."

Lucas turned to her, really looked at her for the first time. "You're not a loser. You're the only person who noticed something was actually wrong instead of just making zombie jokes."

They sat there for an hour while the party raged inside, trading stories about their most embarrassing moments and why high school felt like one long performance review. Lucas's knee kept bumping hers, and Maya didn't move away. The humidity made everything feel close and secret.

"You can wear the hat if you want," Lucas said suddenly, pulling it off. "If you're feeling exposed or whatever. It helps."

Maya pulled the snapback over her hair. It smelled like him—some woodsy shampoo and nervous energy.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Better."

Inside, someone shouted about pizza arriving. But they stayed on the steps, two zombies hiding from the apocalypse, perfectly fine with being undead together.