Zombie Party Palm Sweat

The night started with a goldfish in a red solo cup. My brother Nate's prize from the carnival, clunking around on the dashboard of his beat-up Honda. 'We're gonna be late,' I said, checking my phone for the third time. Madison's zombie-themed party started at eight, and it was already seven-forty-five.

'I'm not dropping you off like a loser freshman,' Nate said, scratching his beard – his attempt at growing one, anyway. He looked more like a lumberjack wannabe than the terrifying bear he thought he was. 'I'm walking you in.'

Great. Because nothing says cool older brother like hovering at a high school party.

Madison's house was already pulsing with bass when we got there. 'Zombie Apocalypse' decorations hung everywhere – fake cobwebs, skeleton hands, a cardboard graveyard in the front yard. I felt my palm sweating against my phone case. Just play it cool, Leo. You got this.

Then I saw her.

Chloe was by the drinks table, wearing this zombie cheerleader outfit that was somehow adorable instead of gross. She was laughing with her friends, her hand brushing someone's arm as she made fun of something. My chest did this stupid flutter thing. I'd been crushing on her since September, spending way too much time stalking her posts like a total spy instead of just talking to her.

'Go talk to her or I'm doing it for you,' Nate said, pushing me toward the kitchen. 'And fix your hair, you look like you just woke up.'

I smoothed my bangs and grabbed a soda, trying to look casual. My hand was actually shaking. This was it. The moment I'd been overthinking for months.

'Hey,' I managed, standing next to her. 'Love the... zombie vibes.'

She turned, and her eyes lit up. 'Leo! You made it!' She gestured to the goldfish bowl on the counter behind her. 'My little brother won one too. We're literally matching now.'

I laughed, realizing Nate must have brought the goldfish inside. 'Yeah, that's... that's pretty funny.'

And then, somehow, we were talking. Like, actually talking. Not the awkward kind where you run out of things to say after two seconds. She asked about my music taste (mostly indie stuff her brother would hate), and I asked about her creative writing class (she was writing a zombie romance novel – yeah, really). For twenty minutes, I didn't even notice Nate bro-bear-ing it up in the corner, looking like he was ready to fight anyone who looked at me wrong.

Then her hand brushed mine when we both reached for more chips.

'Oh, sorry,' she said, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she laced her fingers through mine, her palm warm against mine.

My heart literally stopped.

'I've been waiting for you to talk to me all night,' she admitted, her cheeks pink. 'You're not exactly subtle with the whole watching-from-across-the-room thing.'

Okay, so maybe my spy skills needed work.

'Yeah,' I said, grinning like an idiot. 'Maybe I'm just really into decorations.'

She laughed, squeezing my hand. 'You're such a dork.'

I was still holding her hand when Nate finally came over, bear-mode deactivated. 'Time to go, little man,' he said, but he was smirking.

Chloe squeezed my fingers one last time. 'Text me?'

'Yeah,' I said, unable to stop smiling. 'Definitely.'

Nate drove home with the goldfish still splashing in its cup on the dashboard. 'So,' he said, nodding at my phone. 'You gonna tell me about that hand-holding situation or what?'

'Shut up,' I said, but I couldn't stop grinning.

Some nights, you go in expecting to be a zombie and leave feeling like you're actually alive. This was definitely one of those nights.