Zombie Mode at Sarah's

The house party smelled like coconut wax melts and teenage desperation. I stood against the wall, nursing a warm soda, operating on pure zombie mode—social battery drained, scrolling through my phone like it contained the secrets to life instead of just memes and last year's texts.

Then Jake walked in. Jake, who'd somehow evolved from Minecraft-obsessed eighth grader to stupidly tall junior with jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He was laughing with his friends, that easy laugh that made everything look simple. My palms went full slip-and-slide, sweat slicking my hands like I'd been holding them over a steaming pot.

"You gonna stand there all night?" Maya appeared beside me, holding out a plate. "Eat. You look like you might faint."

I stared at the spinach artichoke dip, green and gooey and utterly terrifying. "I can't. What if I get spinach in my teeth? What if Jake talks to me and I have green bits stuck in my braces like some kind of decorative garden?"

Maya rolled her eyes so hard I worried they'd get stuck. "You don't even have braces anymore, genius. That was sixth grade."

Right. Still, the risk felt too high. This night already felt like walking through a minefield blindfolded. Jake's older sister was in college now—she'd posted those party pics where everyone looked radiant and confident, nothing like the awkward mess I felt currently. I'd spent three hours straightening my hair, only to have it frizz up in the humidity like I'd been electrocuted.

"You have to bear with me," I muttered, staring at Jake across the room. "He's over there being actual human, and I'm over here contemplating if I can fake a phone call from my mom without anyone noticing."

"Or," Maya said, "you could go talk to him. He plays guitar now, did you know? Saw him posting covers on Instagram."

My heart did this stupid little flutter thing. I played guitar too. Sort of. Three years of lessons and I could strum "Wonderwall" with moderate success.

"You're kidding."

"Go. Before I make you." Maya shoved me—gently, but with enough force that I stumbled forward, directly into Jake's path.

He turned, and his eyes landed on mine, and my brain went 404 NOT FOUND.

"Hey," he said. "You're Mia, right? From middle school band?"

I nodded, palms sweating so bad I had to wipe them on my dress without being obvious. "Yeah. That's me. Band camp Mia."

He laughed, and it sounded better in person. "I still have that pick you gave me. The green one."

The world narrowed down to this moment, this boy, the way his hair fell over his forehead. All the zombie feelings evaporated, replaced by something terrifyingly electric.

"Cool," I managed. "Still playing?"

"Yeah, actually. I started doing covers. Maybe we could jam sometime?"

My future self would look back on this night and realize this was the beginning—the beginning of playing music together, the beginning of staying up late sending voice recordings of chord progressions, the beginning of everything that mattered. But right now, in this moment, all I could think was that I'd survived the party.

"I'd like that," I said, and for the first time all night, I wasn't faking it.