Zombie Apocalypse Fridays

Marcus's basement smelled like stale popcorn and the unspoken tension of seven people who weren't sure if they actually liked each other. Friday night. The sacred ritual. The thing that kept them sane through AP Chem and college apps and whatever fresh hell awaited them at school on Monday.

"Pass the papaya," Jasmine said, wrinkling her nose at the fruit bowl like it had personally offended her. "Your mom's going health food crazy again, Marcus."

"It's exotic," Marcus protested, but his voice cracked. He always cracked when Jasmine talked to him directly.

The group had been watching zombie movies since freshman year. It started as a joke and became their thing. Their anchor. Every Friday, different house, same people, same walking dead nonsense. But something felt off tonight.

Chloe, who'd been quiet since she arrived, finally spoke. "Jason posted a pic with them. The bull squad. Like he wasn't at my locker yesterday."

The bull squad. Their nickname for the popular kids who acted like they owned everything, everyone. They'd made Chloe's life miserable since she came out in October. Tonight she looked like a zombie—dark circles under her eyes, skin pale, movements sluggish.

Elena's dog, a golden retriever named Barnaby who'd been sleeping near Marcus's feet, sensed it. He padded over to Chloe and rested his head on her knee. She started crying, silently, and the room went still.

"I can't bear it," she whispered. "I just can't."

Marcus paused the movie. No one complained.

"They're not worth it," Tyler said, finally. "They're just scared. People who are actually happy don't need to make other people feel small."

"Easy for you to say," Jasmine shot back, but softer than usual. "You're not the one they're—"

"They called me a zombie," Chloe said. "In the hallway. Said I looked dead inside."

The room went quiet. Then Elena reached for her phone. "No. Tonight, we make our own movie. We document what's actually real. Not the bull they feed everyone."

They filmed until 3 AM. Chloe interviewing Marcus about his anxiety. Marcus filming Jasmine admitting she was failing Algebra II. Tyler confessing his mom was sick again. Barnaby the dog stealing the show, jumping on chests and knocking over the papaya bowl, sending fruit everywhere.

They were messed up. They were scared. They were seventeen.

But they weren't zombies.

"This," Chloe said, holding up her phone, footage of them laughing at Barnaby's papaya-covered face, "this is what's real. The rest is just background noise."

They posted it at midnight. By morning, it had three hundred views. By Monday, three thousand.

The bull squad never knew what hit them.