Zombie Mode On

Maya dragged herself through the front door at 3:47 PM, eyes burning from six hours of scrolling through her phone in bed. She was operating at like, fifteen percent battery—total zombie mode.

"You're watching the pets tonight," her mom called from somewhere in the house. "Aunt Sarah's got that emergency dental thing."

Right. The menagerie. One orange cat who thought he was royalty, a dog with separation anxiety issues, and—Maya checked the note on the fridge—a literal goldfish named Bubbles who had "special dietary requirements."

Great. Just what she needed when Emma's party was in three hours. The party where *he* might actually show up. Jordan. The one who'd liked her insta story yesterday and sent her entire friend group into a spiral of overanalyzing every possible meaning.

She walked next door, let herself in, and immediately chaos erupted. The cat, Mango, was already plotting something. The dog, Luna, was jumping like Maya had been gone for years instead of since yesterday morning. And Bubbles the goldfish was... well, doing goldfish things, which mostly involved looking judgmental from his bowl.

Maya collapsed onto the couch, checking her phone again. Nothing from Jordan. Of course. The group chat was blowing up though:

omg is he coming???

i heard he's bringing his friends

what are u wearing maya??

She groaned. Social battery: negative. Luna whined, pawing at her leg.

"Yeah, same," Maya muttered. "Wanna skip the party and just vibe here?"

Luna seemed into it. Mango definitely was—he was already asleep on her backpack like it was his personal throne.

Maya thought about it. The party, the pressure to perform, the awkward conversations, the possibility of Jordan showing up (or not), the entire exhausting performance of being a teenager in 2024. Or here: chill pets, zero expectations, the freedom to just... exist without an audience.

"You know what?" she told Luna. "We're staying. I'll text them I'm sick."

Luna wagged her tail like they'd just agreed to the best plan ever.

By 7 PM, Maya was sitting on Aunt Sarah's back porch, Luna curled beside her, Mango draped across her shoulders like a weird orange scarf. She'd ordered pizza (extra cheese, don't @ her), put on her comfort playlist, and was watching the sky turn that perfect shade of purple that only exists on summer evenings.

Her phone buzzed. Jordan. Hey, you coming tonight?

Maya stared at it, then at her current setup. A cat judging her from her shoulder, a dog snoring softly, a goldfish watching like he knew something she didn't. The real answer—the honest one—was that she didn't want to run to another party pretending to be someone she wasn't.

She typed back: nah, not feeling it. you have fun tho.

His response came fast: honestly same. might just stay home and play FIFA

Maya smiled. Oh.

wanna play? she sent before she could overthink it.

sure. send me your discord

And just like that, the zombie-mode pressure lifted. Maya wasn't missing out—she was opting in to something real. Mango purred against her neck like he approved, Luna lifted her head at the change in energy, and even Bubbles seemed less judgmental.

Sometimes, she realized, the best plans aren't the ones everyone expects. Sometimes they're the ones that happen when you stop running long enough to just breathe.