Zombie Mode at the Pool Party

Maya's hair was doing that thing again—frizzing up like she'd stuck her finger in an electrical outlet. Great. Just great. The $45 conditioner her mom swore by had clearly ghosted her.

She stood at the edge of the pool party, clutching her phone so hard her palm left a sweaty mark on the case. Everyone from sophomore year was there, looking perfect and golden and annoying. She felt like a zombie—dead inside, moving on autopilot, probably smelling like existential crisis.

"Hey!" A voice cut through her spiral. Maya turned to see Chloe, the actual queen of the friend group, gesturing toward the padel court. "We need a fourth for mixed doubles. You down?"

Mixed doubles. With actual boys. Maya's brain short-circuited. "I—uh—don't really know how to—"

"It's basically tennis but easier," Chloe called, already walking away. "Come on!"

Next thing Maya knew, she was holding a racquet, standing across from Liam—Liam, who had that effortlessly perfect hair that defied humidity laws. Her palm was sweating so much she was worried she'd fling the racquet across the court.

She missed the first three serves. Her hair kept escaping her ponytail. A literal piece of pool noodle floated by as a reminder of how out of her element she was.

"You're gripping it too tight," Liam said, stepping closer. "Like, relax. You're playing like you're about to fight a zombie apocalypse or something."

Maya actually laughed. "Honestly? That's my baseline."

"Same," Liam said. "I've been running on four hours of sleep and two energy drinks. I'm basically a zombie."

Something shifted. The panic dialing down a notch. They played terrible padel. They lost. But when they high-fived at the end, Maya's palm was still sweaty—and so was his.

"Next time," Liam said, "we'll figure out that backhand."

"Next time," Maya echoed, and for the first time all summer, she didn't feel like she was faking it.