Zombie Mode at the Smoothie Bar

I was operating on pure zombie mode—third consecutive night of finishing AP Euro outlines at 2 AM—and now here I was, stuck working the Friday shift at Tropical Eddie's, my aunt's juice bar in the mall. The fluorescent lights were doing something aggressive to my headache.

"Yo, can I get the Zombie Killer special?" The voice belonged to Tyler, captain of the lacrosse team, standing there with two of his teammates looking all tall and expensive in their Patagonia everything. In the cafeteria, they sat at the tables near the windows like they owned the social hierarchy.

"That's papaya, ginger, lime, and vitamin C boost," I said, trying to sound more awake than I felt. "You want it?"

"Yeah, whatever." Tyler leaned against the counter while his friends laughed at something on one of their phones. "Coach is making us do this cleanse thing. Says we're all playing like zombies anyway." He said it like it was hilarious, like being exhausted from three-hour practices plus school plus whatever else actual people had to deal with was some big joke.

My hands moved on autopilot—scooping papaya, measuring ginger, grabbing the vitamin powder. The blender whined like a dying animal.

"That's fifteen bucks," I said, sliding the cup across the counter.

Tyler's face went weird. "Fifteen? Since when?"

"Since the owner—my aunt—raised prices last month. Supply chain bull, she said."

"Whatever." He handed me a twenty. "Keep it."

They walked away, and I watched them go—three guys who would never understand what it meant to be so tired you forgot what day it was, who would never have to work a shift in their lives if they didn't want to, whose biggest problem was whether Coach thought they were playing like zombies.

The bell over the door chimed again. This girl from my English class—I think her name was Maya—walked in, looking exactly how I felt. Dark circles, hoodie two sizes too big, hair that had seen better days.

"Hey," she said, sliding onto a stool. "You look like I feel."

"Zombie shift number three," I said. "What can I get you?"

"Something with papaya. And literally every vitamin you have behind the counter. I have a chem test Monday and I'm not mentally prepared for my life."

I started making it without asking—papaya, orange juice, vitamin mix, a little honey because everything tastes better with honey. "Same. AP Euro is ending me."

"Ugh, Euro." She put her head in her hands. "Why did I sign up for three AP classes again?"

"Because we're sixteen and stupid and thought we could do everything."

She laughed, and it was this real sound, not performant like the lacrosse guys. "Yeah. Exactly."

I slid the smoothie across the counter. "On the house. Aunt Eddie says I can give away one per shift if I want. I never want to, but right now I'm making an exception."

Maya took a sip. "Oh my god, this actually doesn't taste like despair. Thank you."

"No problem." Something occurred to me. "You want to study for chem together? I mean, not now, but—" I gestured at the empty shop. "I could come in early Sunday. We could be zombies together."

She smiled, and I noticed for the first time that she had really nice eyes. "I would actually love that. Here." She pulled out her phone. "Let me get your number."

Tyler and his friends would never understand it, but there was something kind of perfect about being a zombie with someone else. The papaya smoothie sat between us like a peace offering, and for the first time all week, I didn't feel like I was just surviving until the next bad thing happened.

Maybe that's what nobody tells you about growing up—that the best moments aren't the ones where you're crushing it or winning at things. Sometimes they're just finding another person who gets the tired, and sitting with them while the world does its thing outside the windows.