The Zombie Protocol

I felt like a zombie. Not the cool Netflix kind—just a sixteen-year-old hollowed out by three months of doom-scrolling through everyone else's perfect summer while I rotted on my couch.

"You need to reinvent yourself," Chloe declared, flopping onto my bed and stealing my phone. "Sophomore year is basically a fresh start. New you, new vibes, new everything."

Easy for her to say. Chloe was the kind of girl who could wear a potato sack and make it look like fashion TikTok. I was still recovering from that time in seventh grade when I walked around with spinach in my braces for FOUR HOURS because no one told me. The nickname "Spinach Queen" followed me until high school.

"I'm not trying that hard again," I muttered.

"You don't have to try. You just have to be strategic." She typed something into my Instagram. "I'm making you a social spy. Low-key. Subtle. You watch, you learn, you adapt."

That's how I ended up behind the bushes outside Tyler's house at 11 PM on a Tuesday, feeling like a total creep while my cat Luna rubbed against my ankles because she'd escaped when I snuck out.

Tyler—the boy I'd been secretly in love with since eighth grade—was in his garage with his band. They were actually good. And I was just some weirdo lurking in the bushes with a cat, like a straight-up character from a horror movie.

The garage door yanked open.

"Yo, who's out here?"

I froze. This was it. My social death. Spinach-in-teeth level humiliation times infinity.

Luna chose that moment to bolt into the garage like she owned the place.

"Is that... a cat?" Tyler's voice sounded closer.

I stood up, brushing dead leaves off my jeans. "Yeah. That's my cat. I'm her... person."

He stared at me. Then he grinned. "Are you that girl from AP Bio who never talks?"

"That's me. The silent one."

"Cool." He picked up Luna like she was a baby. "We need a bassist for our Battle of the Bands thing. You play?"

"What?"

"Bass. Do you play?"

"No. But I learn fast."

"That's literally all that matters." He checked his phone. "Oh, shoot. Our internet's down again. Comcast says they'll send someone whenever, which means never."

"I can fix that," I heard myself saying. "My dad's an IT guy. I've been rerouting cables since I was twelve."

Tyler looked at me like I'd just announced I could levitate. "You're kidding."

"Watch me."

Ten minutes later, I'd sorted their router situation and been officially invited to band practice. Luna was asleep on the amp. Chloe was going to lose her mind when she found out I'd accidentally pulled off the social move of the century without even trying.

Sometimes the best reinvention isn't a makeover—it's just finally showing up as yourself, spinach teeth and all.