The Zombie Walk Home

Maya's iphone buzzed in her pocket, another notification she'd ignore until seventh period. The screen stayed cracked—reminder of Friday night when she'd dropped it mid-laugh at Tyler's terrible joke.

Her golden retriever, Buster, waited by the door when the bus finally groaned to a halt. He didn't care that she'd failed her math test, or that her friend group had splintered into awkward text messages instead of actual conversations. Buster just needed walks, belly rubs, and someone to throw his tennis ball until his tail thumped like a metronome.

"You're the only real one left," she muttered, scratching behind his ears as he leaned against her leg with abandon.

The neighborhood felt different after the sun went down. Maya walked faster past the Miller house, where lights flickered through the windows. Some sophomore from the football team had thrown a rager last weekend—word was someone called the cops when things got out of hand. Now the place sat empty, rumors swirling about what actually happened.

Her phone dinged. A group chat: <i>Anyone want to study at the library tomorrow?</i>

Maya stared at the message. Six months ago, she would've replied instantly. Now? The thought of making small talk about nothing while pretending to care about APUSH made her feel like a zombie—moving through motions without any actual spark.

Buster tugged the leash, sensing her hesitation. His golden fur caught the streetlamp glow as he looked back at her like she was being ridiculous.

And maybe she was.

She typed back: <i>Yeah, I'll be there.</i>

The phone stayed dark in her pocket as she turned toward home. Some things could wait until tomorrow.