Zombie at the Pool Party

Maya stood at the edge of the **pool**, clutching her solo cup like a lifeline. She felt like a **zombie**—three hours of sleep after finishing her AP Euro project would do that to you. Her short **hair**, chopped two days ago in a fit of post-breakup empowerment, suddenly seemed too bold. Too noticeable.

"Hey, you're Maya, right?"

She turned to see Devon—track team captain, annoyingly gorgeous, currently holding a plate with what looked like... was that **papaya**?

"Yeah," she managed. "You're Devon."

"Wanna try this? My mom's obsessed with exotic fruits now." He held out a slice. "It's actually pretty fire."

Maya took it, expecting something gross, but—okay, wow. Sweet and tangy, totally not what she expected. "Okay, this slaps."

Devorn laughed. "Right? But don't eat the veggie wrap. I'm pretty sure there's **spinach** in it that's been sitting out for like, three hours. Food poisoning waiting to happen."

Something about his randomness made her forget she was supposed to be awkward. They ended up talking about everything—his weird health-food mom, her history project (he actually knew stuff about the Industrial Revolution, which was annoying), how neither of them really wanted to be at this party but felt obligated.

"Honestly," Devon said, "I'd rather be home watching zombie movies."

"Wait, you're into that stuff?"

"Zombie flicks? Obsessed. The really bad ones from the 80s are peak comedy."

"Okay, we need to watch one together sometime," Maya heard herself say. Bold. Too bold.

But Devon just grinned. "Bet."

Later, as she walked home under streetlights, Maya touched her short hair again. It still felt weird, but maybe not in a bad way. Maybe change wasn't supposed to feel perfect immediately. Sometimes you had to feel like a zombie first, try weird fruit, say things that felt too forward, before you figured out who you were becoming.

Her phone buzzed. Devon: Zombie marathon this weekend? No pressure.

Maya smiled. Definitely feeling less undead already.