Zombie Mode Off

The house party was already in full swing when Maya arrived, anxiety buzzing in her chest like a trapped hornet. She'd been running on zombie mode all week—finals, her parents' divorce papers arriving in the mail, three hours of sleep per night if she was lucky. Her signature beanie hat was pulled low over her forehead, her version of emotional armor. Nobody needed to see the dark circles under her eyes or the way her hands shook when she wasn't keeping it together.

"Maya! You made it!" Chloe shouted, appearing with two red plastic cups. "Here, liquid courage."

"I'm good," Maya lied, already regretting coming. She needed a vitamin cocktail—preferably one containing courage and the ability to make small talk without wanting to dissolve into the floor.

The next hour was a blur of fake smiles and conversations that felt like speaking another language. Eventually, Maya escaped through a sliding glass door to the backyard, where the air was cooler and nobody was watching. That's when she saw it—a cat crouched under the porch, orange eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Hey, little guy," she whispered, crouching down. The cat approached cautiously, then pressed its forehead against her outstretched palm. Something about that simple gesture—trust, warmth, the weight of another being choosing to be close—nearly undid her.

"That's Patches. He basically runs the neighborhood."

Maya jumped. A guy in an oversized hoodie stood nearby, holding his own red cup. He wasn't looking at her like he expected something. He was just... there.

"I'm Ethan," he said. "I come out here when parties get too loud. My social battery lasts about forty-five minutes."

"Mine's currently at negative five percent," Maya admitted, surprising herself.

Ethan laughed. "Zombie mode activated?"

"Zombie mode activated."

They sat on the porch steps in comfortable silence, Patches curled between them like a judgmental referee. For the first time all week, Maya felt something loosen in her chest. She didn't need her hat to feel safe. She didn't need to perform okayness. Sometimes, the real vitamin D wasn't sunshine—it was finding another person who got it without you having to explain.

"Same time next party?" Ethan asked as they headed back inside.

"Zombie corner rendezvous," Maya agreed. "Deal."

Maybe high school wouldn't be so bad if she had a zombie corner to retreat to.