Zombie Mode at the Party

Maya adjusted her dad's oversized fedora hat, hoping it made her look mysterious instead of like she was playing dress-up. Her iphone buzzed in her pocket — third text from Chloe asking where she was. The first house party of freshman year, and she was already fifteen minutes late.

The front door swung open to reveal a living room transformed into chaos. Someone's older brother had clearly gone all out: strobe lights, bass that made her chest vibrate, and a cluster of juniors clustered around the kitchen island like they owned the place.

"Maya! Finally!" Chloe materialized through the crowd, grabbing her hand. "Come meet people."

Socializing in zombie mode. That's what this felt like — her brain half-asleep, body moving on autopilot, smiling at strangers she'd probably never see again. She caught her reflection in the hallway mirror: wide eyes, nervous smile, one hand unconsciously opening and closing against her palm.

"This is Jake," Chloe announced, practically shoving her toward a guy in a varsity jacket. "He's on the football team."

"Hey." Jake looked at her like he was trying to figure out if she was worth his time. "Nice hat."

"Thanks." Maya reached up to adjust it, but her elbow knocked into someone behind her.

Whoops.

The red cup went flying, splashing onto some girl's white dress.

The music seemed to stop, though it kept thumping away. Everyone stared. Maya's face burned. She wanted to disappear, teleport home, rewind five minutes and just NOT come.

But then the girl — a sophomore named Keisha, she recognized her from AP Bio — just laughed. "Dude, it's just soda. Relax."

And somehow, that broke everything open. Maya helped clean up Keisha's dress (mostly dry, thankfully), and they ended up talking on the front porch for the rest of the night. Not about football or being cool or any of that performative stuff. About how Keisha's mom had collected teddy bears from every state and how Maya had taught herself palm reading from a library book last summer.

"Show me," Keisha said, extending her hand.

Maya traced the lines on Keisha's palm, making up dramatic predictions about fame and fortune and an embarrassing encounter with a llama. They both laughed until their sides hurt.

Later, checking her phone, Maya saw texts from her mom asking if she was okay. She texted back: Yeah. Actually, yeah.

The night hadn't gone anything like she expected. But somehow, that made it better.