Zombie Mode

My palms were sweating so much that my phone almost slipped out of my hand. Again.

Third period AP History was dragging, and I was running on two hours of sleep and three iced coffees. Classic zombie mode. The kind where your skin feels too tight and your brain is moving through molasses.

"You good, Maya?" Marcus whispered from the desk beside me. His actual concern was annoyingly endearing.

"Dead. Bury me." I rested my forehead on my textbook. "Track practice killed me. Coach had us running intervals until I literally saw Jesus."

Marcus laughed. "You say that every day. Yet here you are, still alive-ish."

I sat up and caught my reflection in my phone screen — dark circles under my eyes, hair attempting a rebellion against gravity. I was a mess. Meanwhile, Marcus looked like he'd stepped out of a TikTok thirst trap, effortless and annoyingly put together.

The real problem wasn't the lack of sleep, though. It was what happened at lunch yesterday.

I'd finally worked up the courage to sit with Marcus and his friends after knowing him since seventh grade. Big moment. Maya emerging from her socially anxious shell. I'd even eaten the cafeteria's "salad" — which was basically just spinach and despair — because I was trying to impress them with my newfound maturity and health consciousness.

Then came the devastating realization forty minutes later in English class: I'd had bright green spinach stuck in my braces the entire time. Through the whole lunch. While Marcus was looking right at me and smiling and I thought it was because I was being charming and witty.

It wasn't.

I'd found out because Maya Chen (the other Maya, the perfect one with perfect skin and perfect grades) had tapped my shoulder and whispered, "You've got... yeah, your teeth." with that look that said she felt sorry for me, which was somehow worse than if she'd just laughed.

Now Marcus probably thought I was disgusting. He'd definitely been avoiding me all day. Or maybe I was imagining it. That's the thing about being in zombie mode — you can't tell what's real and what's just your sleep-deprived brain spiraling.

"Hey," Marcus said, pulling me from my spiral. "You coming to the meet tomorrow?"

"The track meet?" I blinked. "You think I want to watch more people running voluntarily?"

"I'm running the 1600." He was actually looking at me. "I want you there."

My palms started sweating again. "Oh."

"Unless you're too busy being undead." He smiled, and it was the same smile from lunch yesterday, before I'd learned about the spinach catastrophe. "Plus, my mom's making her famous spaghetti after. You should come. No spinach, I promise."

I stared at him, processing. He knew. He'd definitely known yesterday. And he was still inviting me to dinner.

"Is this a pity invite because I had vegetation in my teeth?"

"It's not a pity invite." He leaned closer. "It's an I-think-you're-funny-and-cute invite. The spinach was just a bonus."

I felt my face heat up. Zombie mode officially over.

"I'll be there," I said. "But I'm bringing my own toothbrush."

"Deal."

Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so catastrophic after all.