Zombie Mode Activated

My hair looked like a rat's nest—because apparently, straight hair and 80% humidity are mortal enemies. I'd spent forty-five minutes trying to tame it before first period, and now it was just... defeated.

"You look like actual death," Maya said, sliding into the seat beside me. "Rough night?"

"Rough week," I corrected, staring at my reflection in my phone screen. "I'm running on pure caffeine and spite at this point."

She handed me a gummy vitamin from the bottle she kept in her backpack. "Here. Multivitamin. My mom swears by them for 'teen brain development' or whatever. Probably won't help, but hey, placebo effect is real."

I popped it in my mouth. "Thanks. I feel like a zombie. Like, not even the cool Netflix kind. Just the exhausted, shuffling-through-the-hallways kind."

"Zombie mode activated," Maya agreed. "At least you're not alone. Half our grade is operating on, like, two hours of sleep. It's practically a collective mental health crisis at this point."

We walked home after school, cutting through the park like always. That's when I saw him—a golden retriever mix, tangled fur and soulful eyes, sitting by the basketball courts like he was waiting for someone.

"Hey buddy," I said, kneeling down. The dog inched closer, tail thumping tentatively against the pavement. "You lost?"

He had a collar, but no tags. Just a phone number Sharpied on a piece of cardboard tied to his collar. I pulled out my phone to call, but Maya stopped me.

"Wait," she said. "Look at his face. He's not lost. He's extremely found. He found the basketball courts."

I laughed—really laughed, for the first time all week. The dog chose that moment to lick my entire chin, leaving a slobbery stripe across my face.

"Gross!" I wiped it off with my sleeve. "But, like, thank you?"

"You needed that," Maya said. "Dog therapy is real, and it's free."

We called the number. A woman picked up on the second ring, sounding panicked. She arrived five minutes later, tears in her eyes, hugging this dog like he was her entire world.

"Thank you," she said. "His name is Buster. He's my emotional support animal. I don't know what I'd do without him."

Walking home, my hair was still a mess, I was still exhausted, and nothing about the massive calculus test looming tomorrow had changed. But something about that dog—about helping someone find something they'd lost—made me feel a little less like a zombie.

"Better?" Maya asked.

"Yeah," I admitted. "Actually, yeah."

"Good," she said. "Because we still have to study. Vitamin gummy?"

"Hit me with another one."