The Zombie Pool Cat Manifesto

I shuffled into seventh period like a zombie — literally. My skin had that prune-y thing going on from three hours of swim practice, my chlorined hair was doing something weird, and my brain had officially checked out around lunchtime.

"Dude, you smell like the deep end," Marcus whispered, sliding into the seat next to me. "Again."

"It's called dedication, Marcus. Look it up." I dropped my backpack like it weighed fifty pounds. Which it basically did, thanks to my AP Bio textbook.

The thing about swimming is nobody gets it unless they do it. It's just endless laps, staring at the black line at the bottom of the pool, while your coach yells the same three phrases. "Faster!" "Point your toes!" "What did I just say?!" It's repetitive, it's exhausting, and I'd signed up for another season because I'd apparently lost my mind.

My phone buzzed. Mom: Don't forget to feed Pixel before practice tonight.

Pixel was our cat, a chaotic orange tabby who'd appeared on our porch two years ago and refused to leave. She was basically the only one who understood my life — sleeping all day, judgmental staring, occasional zoomies around the house at 2 AM. Same.

"Hey, swimming queen," Jasmine called from across the room. "Party at Tyler's on Friday. You coming?"

The room went weirdly quiet. Tyler's parties were legendary. Also legendary: me being socially awkward at them.

"Uh, maybe?" I managed. "I have morning practice Saturday so..."

"Live a little, zombie," Marcus grinned. "You can sleep when you're dead."

But here's the thing — I kind of already felt dead most days. Swimming took everything. School took everything. Trying to be a person took everything. Some days I was just going through motions, waiting for something real to happen.

After school, I dragged myself home and collapsed on the driveway. Pixel appeared from nowhere, crawled onto my chest, and stared into my soul with those yellow cat eyes.

"You judging me too?" I whispered.

She head-butted my chin.

"Fair enough."

I lay there looking at the sky turning pink, chlorine slowly fading from my skin, cat purring like a tiny motor against my ribs. Maybe that was the real stuff. Maybe the in-between moments. The sky colors and the cats and the friends who roasted you but showed up anyway.

I pulled out my phone and texted Jasmine back.

I'm in.

Pixel approved. I could feel it.