Zombie Mode at the Pool

I'm running on zombie mode at this party – three hours of sleep, one energy drink, and pure anxiety keeping me upright. The pool's packed with seniors showing off their summer bods and sophomores pretending they're not terrified of the deep end. Me? I'm parked on a lounge chair in the corner, my orange soda going warm in my hand, watching everything unfold like I'm behind glass.

My DIY orange hair dye job came out more traffic cone than aesthetic sunset vibes, but honestly? I'm kind of digging it. It matches how I feel – bright, unnatural, and definitely not what anyone expected.

"You gonna swim or just bear witness to the chaos?" Maya drops onto the chair beside me, her blue-streaked hair plastered to her face. She's the only one who knows I've been spiraling all week – overthinking everything from college applications to the fact that I'm essentially invisible to everyone here.

"Maybe both," I say, gesturing at the crowd. "Just not feeling it tonight."

Maya's face softens. "Still thinking about—"

"Everything." I cut her off. "Like, what are we even doing? This time next year, we'll all be gone. Different states. Different lives. And I'm here with orange hair and warm soda, watching people who don't even care that everything's about to change."

The sun dips below the trees, painting the sky in legit orange tones – the good kind this time. People are doing cannonballs, someone's phone is playing that song that's been stuck in everyone's head for weeks, and it hits me: this is it. This is what everyone romanticizes. The last summer before everything changes.

Ethan climbs out of the pool, dripping wet, and for a second, our eyes meet. Not in a rom-com way. Just... acknowledgment. Like we're both bearing witness to this weird liminal space between kid and whatever comes next.

"Hey," he says, water pooling at his feet. "Nice hair." It sounds genuine. Not teasing. Just... nice.

"Thanks," I say, surprised. "Yours too." He laughs, running a hand through his wet brown hair. "Yeah, well. At least I didn't do it myself at 2 AM."

We laugh. It's small, but it's real.

Later, Maya and I lie on pool chairs, watching the first stars poke through the twilight. The party's still going, but we're in our own world now. "You know," Maya says, "zombie mode is temporary. But this feeling? The good and the scary parts? That's just what growing up feels like."

She's right. And maybe that's okay.