The Zombie Protocol

Maya dragged herself to third period, feeling like a straight-up zombie after staying up until 3 AM finishing her AP History project. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as she slumped into her seat, brain fog thicker than the mystery meat in the cafeteria.

"You look dead," whispered Jake, sliding into the desk beside her. "Rough night?"

"You have no idea." Maya fished in her backpack and produced a bottle of vitamin D supplements. "My mom says I'm deficient. Apparently that's why I'm always tired."

"Or maybe it's because you're running on three hours of sleep and three iced coffees."

"Touché."

The real reason she'd been up so late wasn't the history project. She'd been scrolling through Chloe's Instagram, comparing her behind-the-scenes reality to everyone else's highlight reel. Chloe was the kind of girl who made everything look effortless—perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect life. Meanwhile, Maya felt like she was constantly bearing the weight of expectations she couldn't possibly meet.

At lunch, the conversation turned to the upcoming fall dance.

"I'm not going," announced Brianna, stabbing at her salad with unnecessary force. "It's going to be lame."

"You say that every year," said Tessa, "then you end up going anyway."

"Not this time. Besides, who wants to stand around awkwardly while people grind to music that's way too loud?"

"I feel that," Maya said. "Last year I spent two hours getting ready, then stood in the corner the whole time like a cat at a dog show."

Her friends laughed, but Maya wasn't joking. The social dynamics of high school were exhausting. Who was talking to whom. Who'd hooked up with whom. Who'd been stupid enough to send that text to the wrong group chat. It was like navigating a minefield, and Maya was constantly terrified she'd step on something.

"Speaking of social disasters," Tessa lowered her voice, "did you hear about Jason and what's-her-name?"

"Olivia?"

"Yeah. Apparently he catfished her with some other guy's photos from TikTok, and when they finally met up at the football game..."

Maya zoned out as the story unfolded. Another day, another drama. She thought about what her therapist had said: *Social media is like funhouse mirrors. It distorts everything.* Easier said than done to stop looking.

Later that afternoon, Maya's older brother Nate found her sprawled on the couch, doomscrolling.

"You're doing it again," he said, flopping down beside her. "The comparison trap."

"I'm not comparing anything."

"Mmm-hmm. Bull. You're doing that thing where you convince yourself everyone else has it figured out and you're the only one who's clueless."

"Maybe because it's true?"

Nate shook his head. "Maya, everyone is making it up as they go. Even Chloe. Especially Chloe. You think her life is perfect? Her parents are getting divorced. She just hasn't posted about it."

Maya sat up. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. So maybe cut yourself some slack, huh? You're doing just fine."

She looked at her phone, then at her brother. For the first time all day, the zombie fog lifted just a little. Maybe everyone was just pretending. Maybe she wasn't the only one.

"Thanks, Nate," she said, putting her phone away. "For real."

"Anytime, little zombie. Now get off your butt and help me with dinner. Mom's working late again."