Zombie Mode at Midnight

Maya's phone pinged at 11:47 PM—again.

"U up?"—Tyler's third text tonight.

She groaned, feeling like a **zombie** after three nights of TikTok spiraling and AP Chem panic. Junior year was eating her brain cells one stress-induced all-nighter at a time. Her eyes burned, but her thumbs kept moving, drawn to the screen like a moth to a flame.

Outside her window, something stirred.

A **cat**—a scraggly black thing with one ear—sat on her windowsill, staring at her like it knew all her secrets. Maya's real cat, Mr. Pickles, would hiss and fluff up like a cotton ball on a bad hair day, but this stranger just watched, judgment in its yellow eyes.

"What?" Maya whispered. "You got advice?"

The cat flicked its tail and vanished.

Her phone buzzed again. "Homecoming this weekend... u going with anyone?"

Maya's stomach did that thing where it dropped three floors. Tyler—gorgeous, plays-soccer, makes-honor-roll-look-effortless Tyler—was subtly, terribly, obviously asking if she was available. And she was sitting here in mismatched pajamas, hair in a chaotic bun, **running** on caffeine and existential dread.

Her **palm**s sweated. Gross. She wiped them on her comforter.

What did she even say? "Maybe" was too distant. "Who's asking?" felt too aggressive. "No" was self-sabotage. "/s" made everything a joke, and suddenly nothing mattered because it's all irony until it's not, and then you're crying in a bathroom stall because your meme game was too strong and now no one thinks you're serious about anything—

The cat reappeared. This time it had something in its mouth. A dead leaf? No—a perfectly round, smooth stone from the garden below.

It dropped the stone on her windowsill with a clink, then stared again.

Maya blinked.

"Oh my god, you're wingmanning me right now?"

The cat didn't dignify that with a response, but its expression softened. Just a fraction. Like, *I believe in you, disaster human.*

Maya typed back: "idk yet, might need someone to show me around 😉"

Send.

Then she threw her phone across her bed like it burned. Her heart pounded. Did she just—? Was that too—?

Three dots appeared.

"sold. let me know ur vibe."

Maya fell back against her pillows, laughing silently at the ceiling. The cat on her windowsill purred loud enough to rattle the glass, a tiny, rumbling victory sound.

Junior year might be killing her, but at least her love life wasn't completely dead yet.