Zombie Dog Days

I was running on three hours of sleep and an iced coffee that had gone warm hours ago. Monday mornings hit different when you're a freshman trying to figure out why the upperclassmen moved like zombies through the hallways. Turns out, they weren't the undead — just victims of the American school system.

Then I saw him. Liam. The kind of cute that makes your brain do a complete factory reset. He was by the water fountain, and I immediately channeled my inner zombie. Shuffling. Dead inside. Keeping it so casual it was almost suspicious.

"Hey, Maya!"

My brain short-circuited. This wasn't supposed to happen. Cute boys don't talk to the girl who wears oversized hoodies and conspiracy theory merch. But then I remembered: I was literally a zombie this morning. I'd zombie-walked through first period. I'd zombie-mumbled through French class. Being a zombie was basically my brand now.

"Hey," I managed, which was impressive considering my heart had relocated to my throat.

"I saw you running past my house yesterday. You were booking it."

Oh.

OH.

I died inside. Not even zombie-dead. Just straight-up ceased to exist.

"That was..." I cleared my throat. "My dog. Buster. He saw a squirrel."

"Nice," Liam nodded, like this was the most normal conversation in the world. "I have a dog too. A golden retriever named Max. He's basically chaos incarnate."

We talked about dogs. About how they were the only living beings who didn't make you feel awkward about existing. About how Buster had once eaten my entire science project and my teacher had still given me a B because "the dog ate my homework" was technically true.

Then the bell rang.

"See you at lunch?" Liam asked, like it wasn't the biggest moment of my entire high school existence.

"Yeah," I said, refusing to zombie-shuffle away. I walked normally. Coolly. Like someone who definitely didn't overthink everything and had their entire emotional breakdown planned for later in the privacy of her bedroom.

Some days you're a zombie. Some days you're running from your own awkwardness. And some days, somehow, everything clicks. The water fountain moment becomes real. The dog story actually works. And the zombie walk? That's just a warm-up for the real thing.

Being fourteen is weird like that.