Zombie Cats and Palm Sweats

Maya stared at her reflection, fingers tangling in frizzy knots that defied every hair tutorial she'd watched. The party started in two hours, and her hair looked like she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket again.

Her palms were already sweating — gross, slippery evidence that she was not chill. Not at all. Why had she agreed to go? Jay would be there. Jay, with his perfect everything and that smile that made her forget basic English.

"You look like a zombie," her little brother announced from the doorway, clutching Mr. Whiskers — his ancient, stained stuffed bear missing one button eye. "A zombie that got electrocuted."

"Thanks, Leo. Really helpful." She threw a hairbrush at him. He dodged, cackling.

Her actual cat, Pumpkin, chose that moment to streak across her room, knocking over the carefully arranged makeup display. Powder exploded everywhere. A coughing fit seized Maya as white dust settled on everything, including her black dress.

"You've got to be kidding me."

She collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. This was fine. Everything was fine. She'd just show up looking like a ghost who survived a powder factory explosion. Jay would definitely fall in love with that.

Her phone buzzed. *You coming?* from Sarah. Maya's thumb hovered over the screen. Then another message: *Jay's asking about you.*

Something shifted. She sat up, wiped her sweaty palms on her dress, and stared at her wild hair in the mirror. So what? So what if it wasn't perfect? So what if she looked like she'd just crawled out of a grave? Zombies didn't care what people thought. Zombies just went for what they wanted.

She raked her fingers through her hair, leaving it messy and wild. Grabbed her jacket. Stepped over the spilled powder.

"Wish me luck," she told Pumpkin, who was licking his paw with total indifference.

Her palms were still sweating as she walked out the door. But her chin was up. Zombies didn't have perfect hair. But they were definitely unforgettable.