When Lightning Hits Zombie Mode

I'd been running on fumes for three weeks straight. Junior year was absolutely no joke — AP classes, track practice, debate team, and now my parents were pressuring me to take on more leadership roles because apparently colleges needed to see me "taking initiative." Whatever that meant when you were surviving on four hours of sleep and whatever passed for lunch in the cafeteria.

Maya found me slumped against my locker during third period, probably looking like actual roadkill.

"You good?" she asked, cracking open a sparkling water that smelled suspiciously like artificial grape.

"Living the dream," I muttered, accepting the vitamin gummies she shoved at me. "My mom says I need these or I'll die before finals."

"You look like you already died," she said, but nicely. "Like, full-on zombie mode. No offense."

"None taken. I've been feeling like a zombie since October."

The thing was, she wasn't wrong. I was moving through everything half-alive, checking boxes that someone else had written for me. College applications. Extracurriculars. The "right" classes. It was like I was trapped in someone else's simulation of a perfect teenager's life, and I was just going through the motions because that's what you did.

Then lightning struck — literally and metaphorically.

We were at Liam's party on Saturday night (the one his parents totally didn't know about), and I was doing my usual thing: standing in the corner, nursing some punch that definitely had something in it, pretending to check my phone so I wouldn't have to make awkward conversation. Outside, a thunderstorm was rolling in, flashes of lightning turning the whole backyard strobe-light weird every thirty seconds.

Then the power cut out.

Pitch black. Someone screamed — playfully, I think. And in that darkness, I realized something that hit me harder than any lightning bolt could: nobody actually cared if I was perfect. Not really. Maya wasn't judging my lack of leadership positions. Liam wasn't analyzing my class rank. The people who actually mattered just wanted me to show up as myself.

"Yo, you okay?" someone asked through the darkness. I think it was Tyler.

"Yeah," I said, and actually meant it. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About how I've been zombie-walking through everything and I'm kind of done with that."

"Valid," he said. "Also, the power's not coming back on anytime soon. Want to play Would You Rather by flashlight?"

And that was it. No lightning moment of transformation where I suddenly became a different person. But for the first time in months, I wasn't just surviving. I was actually there.

The next morning, I texted my mom: I'm dropping debate team. And maybe, just maybe, I was finally ready to start living instead of just existing.