Zombie Mode

Friday night and I'm running on pure anxiety and three hours of sleep. My brain has officially entered zombie mode—that glorious state where you're technically alive but your soul has already left the group chat.

"You good, Marcus?" Jordan asks, waving a hand in my face. We're at Tyler's house party, because apparently that's what normal fifteen-year-olds do on weekends. I'm clutching a cup of soda like it's a lifeline.

"Yeah. Just tired," I manage. My social battery died approximately ten minutes after I walked through the door.

Suddenly, chaos erupts. Someone's dog—a golden retriever named Brody who was definitely not invited—has just discovered Tyler's mom's antique vase. Shattered everywhere. The party goes silent, then everyone's scrambling.

This is it. This is my chance to slip away, find a quiet corner, recharge my introvert energy before I have to interact with another human being. I duck into what I think is the bathroom but turns out to be Tyler's little sister's room.

Pink walls. Unicorn posters. And a fish tank on the dresser with exactly one goldfish staring at me like I'm the intruder here (I am, but still).

"Nice party?" a voice says from behind me. Maya. The quiet girl from my English class who draws anime characters in her notebook during lectures.

"It's... a lot," I admit.

"Yeah." She sits on the floor, crossing her legs. "I'm basically a zombie at this point. My phone died, so I can't even scroll and pretend I'm busy."

We end up talking for twenty minutes about school, video games, how both of us would literally rather be doing homework than socializing. It's the most real conversation I've had with anyone in months. No posturing, no trying to sound cool. Just two socially exhausted teenagers hiding from the world.

The goldfish swims to the front of its tank, staring at us with what I swear is judgment.

"He knows," Maya says. "He knows we're the losers hiding at a party."

"He's literally a goldfish with a seven-second memory," I point out. "He won't even remember this in a minute."

"Good point." She grins. "Wish I could forget tonight existed."

"Maybe not all of it," I say quietly.

She looks at me, really looks at me, and smiles. It's tiny but genuine, and suddenly my zombie mode doesn't feel so permanent after all.