Zombie Mode Activated

Maya stared at her reflection, wondering why her hair had staged a rebellion overnight. The usually sleek waves now resembled a bird's nest that had survived a tornado. Of course today would be the day Jake finally noticed her after three months of Spanish class sitting two rows away.

"Zombie mode activated," she muttered, splashing water on her face. Her mom's voice echoed up the stairs. "Maya! You're gonna be late! And eat something healthy—I made you a spinach smoothie!"

Spinach. Because nothing said "I'm a cool, confident sophomore" like green teeth. Maya grabbed the smoothie anyway, chugging it while racing toward the bus stop. The running motion made her backpack thump against her spine in rhythm with her panic. She could see the yellow bus approaching. No. No. NO.

"Hey!" someone shouted. She turned and tripped over her own feet, smoothie splashing across her white shirt. Perfect. A green Rorschach test right across her chest.

Jake. He was jogging toward her, hair perfect, breathing evenly. "You okay?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. "Just. Great. Love. Spinach."

What was wrong with her? She sounded like a caveman discovering vegetables.

Jake laughed, actually laughed, and Maya felt her face combust. "You're funny. I'm walking to school—bus already left anyway. Want to join? You know, if you're done running marathons with breakfast."

They walked together. Maya forgot about her hair disaster. Forgot about the spinach stain. Jake talked about his crappy summer job at the pool, how he was teaching swimming lessons to "screaming six-year-olds who think I'm trying to drown them."

"I used to swim competitively," Maya heard herself say. "Before. You know."

Before her parents divorced. Before she moved schools. Before she became the quiet girl in Spanish class who never spoke.

Jake's eyes lit up. "Seriously? We need a lifeguard at the pool. Like, desperately. You should apply."

Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be a zombie day. Maybe tomorrow she'd actually be Maya again—the one who wasn't afraid of her own reflection, who didn't run from opportunities, who could maybe finally start swimming back to herself.