Zombie Mode Off

I'd been operating on zombie mode for three weeks straight — ever since Jordan stopped sitting with me at lunch. You know the feeling. You're physically there, shuffling through the hallways, but your brain's just static. Like you're watching yourself from above, thinking, "Wow, that girl needs to wash her hair."

"You look like actual death," said Priya, sliding into the seat across from me in the cafeteria. She pushed a container toward me. "My mom made me bring papaya. Again. I hate it, but you look like you need the vitamins more than I do."

I stared at the orange fruit cubes glistening in their own juice. "Thanks, I guess."

Priya was the kind of friend who just showed up. No invitation needed. We'd known each other since middle school, back when she'd had braces and I'd had that awful bangs phase.

"So," she said, digging into her own lunch. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or am I supposed to guess?"

I swallowed a piece of papaya. Sweet, weirdly grainy, nothing like the processed stuff I usually ate. "Jordan and I aren't friends anymore."

"Oh." Priya paused. "Because you told her about—"

"Yeah. That."

I'd come out to Jordan as bi last month, expecting her to be cool about it. Instead, she'd gotten weird and distant, until one day she just wasn't there anymore. No drama. Just absence.

Priya's expression softened. "That sucks. I'm sorry."

"Whatever." I poked at my food. "It's fine."

"It's not fine, though." Priya leaned in. "You've been walking around like a literal zombie. Not the cool kind. The sad, shuffling kind that needs a shower and a multivitamin."

I laughed, surprising myself. "Wow, thanks."

"I'm serious." She reached across the table and poked my hair. "When's the last time you even washed this? It's looking kind of... tragic."

"This morning!" I protested. "It's just—"

"Flat. Lifeless. Depressed."

I blinked. "Are you saying my hair is depressed?"

"I'm saying YOU'RE depressed, and your hair is reflecting that." She stood up. "Come on."

"Where?"

"My house. We're doing hair masks and watching something terrible and you're going to eat the rest of this papaya because apparently it has vitamin C or something and your skin looks like you haven't seen sunlight in a month."

Something in my chest loosened. "You're bossy."

"I know." She grinned. "Come on, zombie. Let's get you human again."

And you know what? It worked. Not immediately. But somewhere between the avocado hair mask and the third episode of a reality show so bad it was actually good, I stopped feeling like I was watching myself from above. I was just there.

The zombie mode didn't vanish forever. It still creeps in sometimes, on hard days. But now I know the cure: good friends, terrible TV, and whatever weird fruit your mom makes you bring to school.