The Zombie Pool Party Protocol

I'd spent the entire summer in my room like a zombie, rotting my brain on TikTok and avoiding everyone after the Incident with Jason at the last day of school. You know the one — where I confessed my feelings while wearing a shirt with nacho cheese stains and he laughed because he thought I was joking.

"Maya, you need social interaction," my mom announced, appearing in my doorway with a glass containing something that looked like radioactive sludge. "Drink this. It's got spinach, kale, and basically every vegetable you've refused to eat since you were six."

"I'm literally decomposing," I groaned, but I chugged it because Mom had been giving me that worried look lately — the one that says she's reading articles about How to Tell If Your Teen Is Depressed.

My cat Luna wound around my ankles, purring like a tiny motorboat. At least someone still loved me, even if I smelled like kale.

"The Martinez twins are having a pool party," Mom said casually. "You're going."

"What? No. I'd literally rather die."

"You're going. It starts in an hour. And you're bringing snacks."

Which is how I ended up at the Martinez's backyard, clutching a bag of chips while people splashed in the pool below. I spotted Jason immediately. He was shirtless. Of course he was. And he was laughing with some girls whose Instagram feeds were probably curated by actual professionals.

"Maya!" yelled Sophia, Jason's cousin who I'd actually been friends with in middle school. "Get in here! The water's perfect!"

"I'm good," I said, but Luna (the actual cat) had somehow followed me and was now rubbing against my legs like a traitor. "My cat's here."

"Bring the cat!" someone shouted.

I picked up Luna, climbed into the pool fully clothed, and just like that, I wasn't Maya the Human Embarrassment anymore. I was Maya with the Cat Who Loved Water. Everyone thought it was hilarious that Luna swam laps around me. Even Jason drifted over, grinning.

"Your cat's cooler than mine," he said, splashing water in my direction. "Remember when we tried to teach my cat to swim in sixth grade and she basically summoned her inner zombie to try to murder us?"

I laughed. For the first time all summer, the knot in my chest loosened. Maybe surviving the zombie apocalypse of middle school embarrassment wasn't about hiding in your room. Maybe it was about jumping in the pool, spinach-breath and all, and realizing nobody actually cares about the stuff you've been torturing yourself over.

Or maybe it was just that Luna was an excellent wingman.