Zombie Brain, Sweaty Palms

I felt like a zombie. Not the cool Netflix kind with perfect contouring and badass one-liners. I'm talking barely-functioning-on-three-hours-of-sleep zombie. Junior year was absolutely wrecking me, and tonight? Tonight was Jordan's party. The party of the century.

My palms were sweating through my favorite vintage jacket. Great. Just great.

"You good, bro?" Marcus asked, nudging me as we walked up the driveway. "You look like you're about to pass a math final. During an earthquake."

"I'm chill," I lied. "Totally chill."

We stepped inside and the bass hit me like a physical force. Kids I'd sat next to in homeroom for three years were suddenly transformed—dancing with actual coordination, talking without awkward pauses, existing with confidence I'd been faking since seventh grade. How did everyone get the manual on being a normal human except me?

That's when I saw Chloe. Chloe, who I'd been lowkey crushing on since she dropped her pencil in AP Bio and I handed it back like it was radioactive. She was by the snack table, and my brain went from zero to panic in approximately zero seconds.

"I need air," I told Marcus, backing away toward the backyard.

The cool air hit my face like a blessing. I leaned against the porch railing, taking deep breaths. That's when I heard it—the saddest sound in the entire universe.

A dog. A massive, fluffy golden retriever, sitting by the fence, watching me with the most pathetic eyes ever created.

"Hey buddy," I whispered, sitting beside him. "You hiding too?"

The dog—his collar said Buster—rested his head on my knee, and I swear he sighed. Big dramatic, teenage-angst level sigh.

"Yeah," I said, scratching behind his ears. "I feel you. Sometimes being around people is just... a lot."

Buster licked my hand. Not even a polite lick—full-on, messy, enthusiastic dog kiss. I started laughing, really laughing, for the first time all night. The stress of the party, the pressure to be cool and confident and funny, it all just kind of... melted.

"What are you doing out here?"

I jumped. Chloe. Standing right there, looking cute in her flannel and obviously wondering why I was talking to a dog like he was my therapist.

"Buster gets it," I said, before I could overthink it. "He knows social interactions are basically the worst."

Chloe smiled. Not fake smile—real smile. "Can I join the anti-party club?"

We sat there with Buster for like twenty minutes. She talked about how she hated small talk but loved astrophysics. I admitted I'd been zombie-walking through junior year. We didn't even touch—just sat shoulder-to-shoulder with a dog between us, feeling like we'd discovered something nobody else at the party knew.

Later, back inside, Marcus asked what happened. I just grinned.

"Nothing," I said, though everything had changed. "Just needed to reboot my zombie brain."

My palm tingled where I'd secretly written her number later. Sometimes the best moments happen when you stop trying to be cool and just... exist. Even if it takes a dog to remind you.