Zombie Mode

I'd been operating in full **zombie** mode since sophomore year began—dragging myself through AP classes, doom-scrolling until 3 AM, repeating the same exhausted conversations at lunch. My life was basically a glitch on loop.

Then Mia decided we needed "a vibe reset" and dragged me to that weird fruit market off Route 9. She picked up this alien-looking thing and held it like it was about to hatch. "Try it. **Papaya**. It's supposed to be, like, life-changing."

I stared at it. "That looks like something that would judge me."

"Exactly what a zombie would say."

So I tried it. And okay, fine—it didn't immediately fix everything, but for one second, I wasn't thinking about college applications or how Cole's crew had been absolute **bull** to the new kid in homeroom all week. Just me and this weird tropical moment Mia had forced upon me.

Cole. I needed to handle that situation.

At **baseball** practice, Coach kept yelling about "keeping your eye on the ball" but my brain was stuck on how Cole's laugh echoed across the cafeteria, how nobody ever said anything. How I never said anything.

"You good, man?" Ty asked afterward, tossing me his glove. "You've been acting like you're the one who got hit by a pitch."

"I'm fine. Just... thinking about how to deal with Cole."

Ty stopped tying his cleats. "Dude, you can't just let him keep being trash to people. You gotta **bear** down and handle it."

"Bear down? What are you, my grandpa?"

"You know what I mean. Call him out."

That Monday, I did it. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold my tray. But when Cole made that crack about the new kid's accent, I heard myself say, "That's not cool, man."

The cafeteria went silent. Cole's face did this surprised little crumple. Then—miraculously—someone else backed me up. Then someone else.

That night, Mia texted: Was that you being brave? I'm shook.

Maybe I wasn't a zombie anymore. Maybe I was just waking up. One weird fruit, one awkward confrontation at a time.