Zombie Mode Offline

The blue light from my phone screen hit my face at 2:47 AM — third consecutive night in zombie mode. My Discord notifications were blowing up because I'd promised to be online for the raid, but honestly? My brain felt like it had been put through a blender.

"Buster," I whispered to my dog. "Tell me again why I thought streaming was a good idea?"

Buster, a 60-pound golden retriever mix who'd been my emotional support animal since middle school, thumped his tail against my bed frame. He was the only one who knew about the panic attacks that hit whenever I thought about high school social dynamics. The popular crowd, the athletes, the ones who moved through life like they had the cheat codes.

My charging cable frayed another inch. Third one this semester. Mom was going to kill me.

"Leo!" Mom's voice cut through my door at 9 AM. "You promised you'd try new things this summer. I signed you up for padel lessons at the rec center."

"Padel?" I stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Mom, I don't do sports. I do gaming. I do avoiding social interactions."

"Exactly. That's why you're going."

The rec center smelled like floor wax and desperation. I stood there holding a borrowed racket while three guys my age moved through warm-ups like they'd been born on the court. Their gear was pristine, their outfits coordinated. My thrift store shorts and fanny pack from 2004 weren't exactly radiating main character energy.

"You're in my spot," one of them said. Not mean, just... matter of fact. Like I was background noise in his movie.

Then something wild happened. Buster, who'd somehow slipped his collar during our morning walk, burst through the double doors. His leash trailed behind him like a comet tail.

"Buster!" I scrambled after him.

He made a beeline for... a girl sitting on the sidelines, watching. She had purple streaks in her hair and was dramatically applying lip gloss like she was preparing for battle.

"Oh my GOD," she said, as Buster flopped onto her feet. "Are you serious right now?"

"I'm so sorry," I started. "He never —"

"He's PERFECT." She buried her hands in his fur. "I'm Maya, by the way. And you're officially my favorite person here."

We spent the next hour sitting on the sidelines while Buster collected pets from everyone. Maya turned out to be fighting with the popular girls on the court. Something about stolen padel rackets and group chat drama that sounded exhausting.

"You know," Maya said, watching me repeatedly try to fix my fraying cable so I could check my phone, "you're the first person who hasn't tried to impress them."

"I'm too busy trying not to die of embarrassment," I admitted.

"Same." She grinned. "Hey, you want to get food after this? There's a boba place down the street."

My phone screen stayed dark. Buster wagged his tail. And for the first time all summer, I didn't feel like a zombie anymore.