Zombie at the Deep End

Maya felt like a walking **zombie** as she stood by the **pool**, clutching her red solo cup like it was a lifeline. Three hours of sleep and her mom's forced health regime would do that to you. The green smoothie had been packed with **spinach**—something she'd obviously failed to notice in her bathroom mirror check.

"You good?" Jessie asked, nudging her with an elbow. Jessie, who had somehow convinced Maya that crashing Tyler Hamilton's end-of-summer bash was a good idea. Jessie, who actually knew how to talk to people without wanting to disappear into the ground.

"Fine," Maya managed, though her tongue kept finding that piece of spinach stuck between her molars. Perfect.

Tyler's crew sat by the deep end, laughing at something that wasn't funny. Maya knew the type—performative loudness, like they'd all taken the same masterclass on How To Look Cool. Tyler caught her staring and smirked.

"What's up, Maya?" he called out. "Decided to join the living?"

His friends chuckled. Maya's face burned. She should've stayed home and finished her art portfolio instead of subjecting herself to this—what was the word her dad used? Pure **bull**.

"Just came for the free food," she heard herself say. It wasn't smooth, but something in Tyler's expression shifted.

"Bullshit," he said, but differently this time. "Actually, the chips are garbage. My mom went organic."

"No way," someone else groaned. "Not again."

And just like that, the performance dropped. They were just tired, over-it teenagers like her, stuck at a party nobody actually wanted to be at.

Maya found herself sitting next to Tyler, discussing the relative merits of various chip brands and why parents insisted on ruining everything good in the world. The spinach was still there, but suddenly it didn't matter so much.

"You're actually funny," Tyler said, like he was surprised. "We thought you were all"—he made a pretentious gesture—"you know, above it."

"Nope," Maya said. "Just chronically exhausted and secretly judgmental."

He laughed. A real one.

The **zombie** feeling faded, replaced by something stranger: the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she belonged here after all. Even with spinach in her teeth. Even when it was all a little bit bull. Especially then.