Zombie Mode On

I was operating at like 15% battery. Junior year had me in full zombie mode — shuffling through hallways, responding in grunts, my soul basically departing my body somewhere around third period AP Chem.

"Dude, you coming to the padel courts?" Tyler's voice cut through my fog. "Jasmine's gonna be there."

I perked up. Jasmine. The girl who'd sat behind me in bio since September, whose laugh sounded like wind chimes, who I'd barely said three words to because every time I tried, my brain short-circuited.

"I'm in," I said, suddenly very awake.

But first: the obstacle course known as my kitchen. My mom, deep in her wellness era, had created a monstrosity.

"Spinach smoothie!" she announced, sliding a glass of sludge toward me. "Packed with iron, beta-carotene, and —"

"And the tears of my enemies," I muttered, gulping it down in three painful swallows. The things I did for love. Or at least, for the possibility of love.

We got to the padel courts, and Jasmine was already there, stretching in that way that made my chest feel weirdly tight. Her game was clean — powerful backhands, perfect positioning, laugh echoing every time she nailed a shot.

My game, meanwhile, could best be described as "enthusiastic but uncoordinated."

"You okay?" Jasmine asked after I whiffed a ball that was literally two feet from my racket. "You look kinda... zombie-like."

"Finals week," I managed. "My brain is mush."

She laughed. "Join the club. I've been running on caffeine and hope since Tuesday."

Something loosened in my chest. She wasn't perfect. She was just really good at hiding it.

Afterward, someone's cousin's friend's pool was open. The sun was dipping, turning everything gold and hazy. Everyone jumped in, clothes and all, but I hung back, suddenly hyper-aware of my awkwardness.

Jasmine surfaced, shaking water from her hair like some kind of mythical creature. "You coming in or what?"

"I didn't bring a suit," I said lamely.

"So?" She grinned, water droplets sliding down her face. "Neither did half the people here. Live a little."

So I jumped. The water shocked my skin, sudden and cold and perfect, and when I came up sputtering, Jasmine was right there, laughing at my expression, and for the first time all week, the zombie fog lifted.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, and actually meant it. "Way better."

Sometimes, I learned, you don't need to be perfect. You just need to jump in.