Zombie Mode

Marcus shuffled through the hallway at Northwood High, functioning on three hours of sleep and existential dread. Senior year was eating him alive, and he'd officially entered permanent zombie mode. His eyes burned, his brain felt like mush, and he was pretty sure his hoodie had been on for three consecutive days.

"Dude, you look dead," said Jenna, falling into step beside him. "Also, nice hat. Are you going through a mysterious phase?"

Marcus self-consciously adjusted the black beanie he'd pulled low over his messy hair. "It's called attempting to blend into the lockers, Jenna. Some of us aren't born confident."

"Some of us also don't spend every lunch period playing iPhone spy games," she shot back.

He flushed. Jenna didn't know the half of it. Marcus had been covertly observing Maya from across the cafeteria for months—okay, fine, it sounded creepy when he said it like that. But he wasn't being a creep; he was being cautious. Maya was brilliant and funny and way out of his league, and Marcus was basically a background character in his own life.

His spying routine consisted of strategically positioned angles that allowed him to watch her laugh with her friends while pretending to be deeply absorbed in AP Psychology flashcards. He had approximately forty-seven conversations scripted in his head. None had ever happened.

Today changed everything.

Marcus sat at his usual table, headphones in, pretending to watch something educational on his phone. Actually, he was watching Maya from the corner of his eye. She was sitting alone today, which never happened, and she looked upset.

His charging cable lay stretched across the table like a peace offering from the universe.

Maya suddenly stood up and marched toward him. Marcus's heart launched into his throat. He considered making a break for it, but his legs weren't cooperating.

"Hey," she said, standing right there. Right in front of him. Up close, she had tiny freckles across her nose and worry lines between her eyebrows. "Can I sit here?"

"What?" Brilliant, Marcus. Truly eloquent.

"Everywhere else is full, and I'm not in the mood for people today." She gestured to his empty table. "Also, your phone's about to die, and I have a portable charger in my bag."

She sat down before he could respond, and Marcus had a realization so profound it nearly knocked him over: he wasn't invisible. He was just invisible in his own head.

"I'm Marcus," he managed, pushing his hat back slightly.

"Maya." She pulled out a charging cable, smiling tentatively. "Also, I've seen you watching me."

He died a thousand deaths in that moment.

"But you always look so miserable," she continued, "that I figured you were just having a worse time than me. I've been waiting for you to say hi for weeks."

Marcus blinked. "Wait, what?"

"You're not exactly subtle with the spy routine, Marcus." Maya's smile widened. "But it's kind of cute. In a zombie apocalypse survivor way."

Something shifted in his chest—lightness, possibility, the sudden sense that his life was actually happening to him, not just around him.

"I'm not usually this awkward," he said, and it wasn't even a complete lie.

"Good," said Maya, and handed him her portable charger. "Because I have a feeling we're going to be friends. And I have terrible taste in music, so get ready."

For the first time all year, Marcus didn't feel like a zombie at all. He felt dangerously, wonderfully alive.