Zombie Mode at Jordan's Party

I looked like a straight-up zombie. Final exams had turned my brain into mush, and the bags under my eyes could carry groceries. But Maya had dragged me to Jordan's party, insisting I needed to "touch grass" before summer officially started.

Standing in Jordan's massive backyard, I felt every bit the awkward sophomore I was. The seniors were clustered around the fire pit, laughing like they owned the place. I hovered near the snack table, my palms so sweaty I could practically water plants with them.

Then I saw Riley—the girl I'd been lowkey crushing on since September—sitting alone on the porch swing. My heart started doing jumping jacks. This was it. My moment to finally talk to her, or die trying.

I made my move, but my dumb foot caught on a uneven patio stone. I went down hard, face-planting directly in front of her.

She laughed. Not mean-girl laughing, but actual genuine laughter. "You okay there?"

I scrambled up, face burning. "Totally. Just testing gravity. Still works."

"I'm Riley, by the way."

"Marcus. I mean, I know you know that. We have bio together. You sit behind me. Not that I was looking or anything. Wow, I'm running away with this conversation, huh?" I gestured vaguely at the mess I'd made.

She kept laughing, and something shifted. "I love your energy, Marcus. It's chaotic. I dig it."

We spent the next hour talking about everything from our zombie-like states after finals to how both our dogs had eaten entire homework assignments this year. Her golden retriever had consumed her history report. My pug mix had apparently decided my English essay was a five-course meal.

"Dude, that's hilarious," she said, finally. "We should hang this summer. Before we both turn into actual zombies from summer school or whatever."

"Yeah," I said, trying to play it cool while internally screaming. "That would be... not terrible."

Riley pulled out her phone. "Let me get your number. Oh, and Marcus?" She held up her hand for a high-five. "Nice recovery."

Our palms met, and for the first time all night, mine weren't sweating at all. Sometimes the most embarrassing moments become the best stories. I learned something that night: being yourself—even when yourself is a clumsy, overthinking zombie—might just be exactly what someone needs.