The Zombie Who Forgot How to Swim

My hair looked like a cry for help. This is what happens when you let your friend convince you that DIY bleach is a good idea at 2 AM.

"It's giving mermaid-core," Maya insisted, spinning me toward the mirror. "Or maybe seagull that attacked a cotton candy factory."

I stared at the patchy blond disaster on my head. Great. Exactly the look I wanted for the first day of lifeguard training, where I'd be standing next to Kevin—the cute one who always smelled like coconut sunscreen and confidence.

The swimming pool shimmered through the chain-link fence like a turquoise promise. I'd spent all winter fantasizing about this moment. Me, in a red swimsuit, looking effortless. Not me, looking like I'd lost a fight with a bottle of peroxide.

I felt like a zombie. Three hours of sleep will do that to you. Add in the anxiety spiral about whether Kevin would notice my hair, and I was basically the walking dead.

"You're spiraling," Maya said, shoving a coffee toward me. "Be cool. Just act like it's intentional. Edgy. Avant-garde."

"Easy for you to say. Your friend didn't convince you that DIY hair dye was a fun bonding activity."

She grinned. "But it WAS fun. And we have matching bad hair days now. That's friendship."

The real disaster happened when I actually got into the pool. During the qualifying test, I kept getting water in my nose, my arms felt like spaghetti, and I somehow forgot how to swim properly. I flailed. I sputtered. I definitely swallowed enough pool water to qualify as a biohazard.

Afterward, while I sat on the edge clutching a towel like it could hide my shame, Kevin dropped beside me.

"Rough day?"

I stared at my knees. "You could say that."

"Your hair's pretty cool, though. Looks like you did it on purpose. Very artsy."

The zombie in my brain did a little jump. Wait, really?

"My friend Maya talked me into it," I admitted. "It was supposed to look elegant."

Kevin laughed, and the sound made something flutter in my chest that had nothing to do with near-drowning. "Well, it works. You look like someone who doesn't care what anyone thinks. That's rare around here."

Maybe the hair disaster wasn't so bad after all. Maybe it was armor. Maybe being a zombie with terrible hair was exactly what I needed to stop overthinking everything.

Maya found me later, grinning like she'd planned it all along. "See? I told you it would work out. Now let's go fix those ends before you start looking like an actual seaweed monster."

"You're the worst," I said, but I was smiling. "Also, you're buying the coffee this time."