Zombie Apocalypse at the Pool Party

I was already regretting agreeing to come. Tyler's backyard pool party was supposed to be the social event of the summer before sophomore year, but I was currently hiding behind a **palm** tree, nursing a warm soda and questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

"You look like you're plotting everyone's murder," said Maya, appearing beside me. She was holding a sliced **papaya** like it was the most normal snack in the world at a teenage party.

"Just plotting my escape," I muttered. "I can't do the small talk thing today."

Maya laughed, her nose crinkling. "Join the club. I've been dodging Tyler's cousin all night. He keeps talking about his **baseball** scholarship like it's a personality trait."

The **orange** sunset was painting everything in that perfect golden-hour glow that made Instagram stories look effortless. I looked around at everyone—Tyler being the center of attention, Chloe and her friends taking mirror selfies in the bathroom, the guys attempting to form a human pyramid by the pool. They all seemed to know exactly who they were supposed to be.

"I feel like such a **zombie**," I admitted. "Like, everyone else got the manual on how to be a teenager and I'm just wandering around clueless."

Maya set down her papaya on a nearby lawn chair. "Same though. Last week I tried to sit at the 'cool' table at lunch and literally said 'what's up' to no one because they were all wearing headphones."

I cracked up. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious. My social skills are basically nonexistent." She paused. "But you know what? At least we're not fake like some people here."

She gestured toward Chloe, who was currently livestreaming herself laughing at something that wasn't funny.

"Touché." I took a sip of my warm soda. "You know what? Let's just own it. Let's be the awkward kids who hide behind palm trees and eat weird fruit."

Maya grinned. "I'm down. Papaya?"

I eyed the fruit suspiciously. "Why not?"

We spent the rest of the party making commentary on everyone's terrible dance moves, inventing backstories for people we didn't know, and actually having the most genuine conversation I'd had in months. As I walked home later that night, cheeks sore from laughing, I realized something: maybe being a zombie at a party full of fake people wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Sometimes the best way to find yourself is to stop trying to be anyone else.