Zombie Brain Freezy

The temperature hit ninety-eight degrees, which meant only one thing: Jade's annual pool party. The one where everyone who was anyone showed up in their best swimsuits, pretending not to care while actually caring way too much. I stood there in my cutoffs and oversized tee, feeling like the ultimate zombie after staying up until 3 AM scrolling through my feed, watching everyone else's supposedly perfect life flash by in 15-second clips.

A streak of orange fur darted past my leg. The neighborhood cat—that grumpy tabby everyone called-Churro—glared at me like I'd personally offended him. Great. Even the cat could sense my awkward energy.

"Hey!" Marco called from the pool edge, droplets of water rolling down his stupidly perfect abs. "You coming in or what?"

My brain short-circuited. Marco, the guy I'd been low-key crushing on since seventh grade, was actually talking to me. Meanwhile, I was just standing there like I'd forgotten how words worked.

"Y-yeah," I managed, which was embarrassing but better than my original thought of just nodding silently.

The pool shimmered like liquid diamond in the afternoon sun. I made my way over, hyper-aware of every step, every breath, every awkward hand movement. Inside, Jade's little brother was playing video games on a TV that was somehow still connected to actual cable, which felt weirdly vintage in the age of streaming everything.

Then I saw her—Lily, my former best friend who'd drifted toward the popular crowd sometime around homecoming last year. She looked like she'd stepped out of a TikTok tutorial, surrounded by people laughing at something someone said.

The zombie feeling washed over me again. Not the brain-eating kind, but that specific teenage condition where you're physically present but mentally somewhere else, watching yourself exist from the outside, wondering if everyone else feels this fake or if it's just you.

Churro the cat hopped onto the patio table and started grooming himself with zero shame, completely at home in his own fur. I wished I could channel that energy—just existing without overthinking every micro-expression.

Marco splashed water at me. "Earth to zombie. You okay?"

And that's when it hit me: the zombie thing wasn't just about being tired. It was about going through motions without actually being present. About watching life instead of living it.

I dove into the pool, cool water shocking me alive. When I surfaced, sopping wet and grinning like an idiot, Marco was laughing. And for the first time all summer, I wasn't watching from the outside anymore.

Maybe growing up meant feeling like a zombie sometimes. But it also meant learning how to snap out of it.