Zombie Mode Activated

Marcus shuffled into third period Monday morning feeling like a straight-up zombie. Three consecutive nights of CoD with the squad'll do that to you. His eyes burned, his brain felt like static, and don't even get him started on his hair—utter catastrophe.

"Bro, you look dead," said Jasmine, sliding into the seat beside him. She was drinking orange Fanta from a crush-worthy vintage cup she'd scored at a thrift store. Classic Jasmine. Making even thrift store finds look like Pinterest aesthetic goals.

"Rough weekend," Marcus mumbled, slumping over his desk. "Cable internet went down. Had to hotspot off my phone. The lag was literally unbearable."

"Literally," she agreed, then grinned. "But hey, at least you survived. unlike my will to live after that calc test."

Mr. Harrison started droning about symbolism in Lord of the Flies or whatever, and Marcus's mind drifted. To Jasmine's orange backpack. To how she'd randomly high-fived him in the hallway last week. To how his chest did that stupid fluttery thing every time she got within a three-foot radius.

The bell couldn't ring fast enough.

Later, at lunch, Marcus found himself sitting with Jasmine and her friends. They were talking about some zombie show Marcus had never seen. He opened his mouth, ready to play it cool and fake his way through the conversation like he always did.

Instead, he heard himself say: "I've never actually watched it."

Silence. For like, two entire seconds. Which, in teenage time, is basically forever.

But then Jasmine just shrugged. "We should binge it this weekend. My parents are gonna be out of town. We'll order pizza and rot our brains together."

Marcus nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

And for the first time all week, he didn't feel like a zombie at all.