Zombie Mode Activated

Maya's phone buzzed for the third time in two minutes. She stared at her iphone screen, half-finished text glowing back at her: 'you coming tonight?' Three little bubbles appeared, disappeared, reappeared. Jordan was typing. Then not. Then typing again.

She hadn't decided yet. Not really. Junior year's first house party—the kind that would definitely be discussed in Monday's AP English class with knowing looks and exaggerated sighs. The kind where showing up alone meant socially awkward solitude, but bringing someone meant explaining why you brought someone.

Her sister burst into Maya's room wearing Maya's favorite vintage hat, the one with the slightly bent brim that made everything feel cooler by association.

'You're not actually wearing that to the party,' Maya said, gesturing vaguely.

'This? This is *iconic*.' Lila spun around. 'Also, Mom said if you're going, you're driving because her car's acting up. Something about the throttle cable being loose. She was very specific about the throttle cable.'

'Mom doesn't know what a throttle cable is.'

'That's what makes it terrifying, actually.' Lila plucked the hat off her head and tossed it onto Maya's bed. 'Anyway, you're going. Jordan's going. The whole group chat has been blowing up about it since sixth period when someone—definitely not Jordan—accidentally posted the address publicly.'

Maya groaned into her pillow. Public address meant randoms. Randoms meant standing in corners holding solo cups, pretending to be deeply interested in someone's shed renovation story.

'You're overthinking,' Lila said, suddenly perceptive. 'Just go. Have fun. Don't be a zombie about it.'

'A zombie?'

'You know. All dead inside, walking around like your brain got eaten. Just existing, not living.' Lila paused. 'Also, Jordan definitely has a thing for you. The typing anxiety? Classic.'

Maya's phone lit up again. Jordan: 'honestly though. idk if im going either. might just stay home and do homework lol'

The 'lol' hit different. Jordan never used 'lol' unless they meant it ironically, which meant they meant it seriously, which meant—

Wait.

Maya sat up. Jordan didn't want to go either?

'So,' Lila said from the doorway, 'are we picking them up or what?'

'What?'

'Jordan. They texted me. Said if you're going, they're going. If you're not, they're not. They called it—what was the phrasing?—'Lila checked her own phone—'a tactical social alignment situation.'

Maya grabbed the hat from her bed. It smelled like her closet, like old fabric and vague nostalgia. Like comfort.

'Yeah,' she said, typing. 'i'll pick you up at 9.'

She hit send before she could overthink it. Before she could zombie-out and retreat into the safety of her room, her perfectly curated social media presence, her comfortable solitude.

Jordan responded immediately: 'bet.'

No typing anxiety this time. Just certainty.

'Zombie mode deactivated,' Lila observed from the hallway. 'Nice.'

Maya grabbed her keys. Maybe parties weren't so bad if you had your own agenda. Your own person. Your own slightly weird, slightly wonderful reason for showing up.