The Zombie Protocol

Maya's sophomore year was supposed to be her main character era—complete with the beat-up fedora she'd thrifted because, obviously, accessories equal personality. But standing in the cafeteria with spinach stuck in her front teeth while Derek, the human embodiment of a golden retriever, grinned at her from across the room? That was not the vibe.

"You good, Maya?" asked Jules, sliding into the seat beside her. "You look like a zombie that just remembered it has homework due."

"I'm thriving," Maya lied, desperately trying to dislodge the green evidence of her lunch with her tongue while maintaining what she hoped was mysterious indifference. The fedora was supposed to signal artsy enigma, not I-don't-know-how-to-eat-salad properly.

This year was supposed to be different. Last year's Maya had been invisible—a background NPC in everyone else's story. This year's Maya wore hats and took risks and maybe, just maybe, would finally talk to Derek, who somehow made being on the cross country team look effortless instead of like voluntary torture.

"Zombie prom is next week," Jules said, scrolling through her phone. "We should go as a squad. You could wear that hat and go as... I don't know, a stylish zombie?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. Zombie prom meant Derek would be there. Derek, who she'd been lowkey obsessing over since freshman year. Derek, who she'd promised herself she'd actually talk to this time around.

"I'm in," Maya heard herself say, because apparently self-sabotage was her love language.

The night of Zombie Prom, Maya showed up wearing her fedora dusted with zombie makeup that had taken her forty minutes to perfect. Jules had gone all out with fake wounds, but Maya had kept it subtle—dead but make it fashion, you know?

Then she saw Derek. He was wearing zombie makeup too, messy and imperfect, and laughing with his friends like being half-dead was the most natural thing in the world. When his eyes met hers across the gym, he actually waved.

Maya's heart did something complicated and illegal. She started walking toward him, channeling every ounce of main character energy she possessed.

"Nice hat," Derek said, smiling as she approached. And then, because the universe had a personal vendetta against her dignity, he gestured to his own teeth. "You've got a little... um, green stuff right there."

The spinach. Again.

But then Derek laughed, and it wasn't mean. "Dude, same thing happened to me during lunch. I think the salad is out to get us."

Maya laughed too—really laughed, for the first time in what felt like forever. And just like that, the zombie protocol worked. She wasn't invisible anymore. She was just Maya: slightly awkward, spinach-prone, and finally, finally part of the story.