Zombie Prom Apocalypse

Maya's orange hair spray was supposed to look festive, not radioactive. But here she was, three hours before homecoming, staring at her reflection like it might suddenly make sense. Her mom, doing that supportive parent thing she'd perfected since the divorce, called from downstairs.

"You nervous about the game?"

"The baseball team's gonna lose anyway," Maya shouted back, grabbing her phone. Twelve texts from Jenna. All caps. Something about Tyler wearing a zombie costume.

Tyler. With his perfect smile and the way he looked at her during chem lab yesterday. Maya's stomach did that thing—like swallowing a whole box of expired sushi.

The gym was already chaos when she arrived. Someone had cranked the playlist too loud. Jenna grabbed Maya's arm, practically vibrating. "You look amazing! But also like you survived a nuclear fallout incident."

"Thanks, I think."

Then she saw him. Tyler, in a zombie costume that was honestly terrible. Green face paint smeared unevenly, ripped flannel shirt, fake blood that looked suspiciously like ketchup. But when he spotted Maya, his face lit up. Like, actually lit up.

"Nice hair," he said. "Very... post-apocalyptic chic."

Maya started to respond coolly, something witty and effortless. But then she felt it—a piece of spinach, surely from the emergency pizza she'd devoured earlier, wedged stubbornly between her front teeth. The universe had a personal vendetta against her happiness.

She clamped her mouth shut. Nodded. Made what she hoped passed for a mysterious smile instead of what was definitely a weird grimace.

"You okay?" Tyler asked, stepping closer. "You look kinda..."

"FINE," Maya practically shouted. "I mean, yeah. Totally fine. Just—zombies, right? Gotta stay in character."

Tyler laughed. And then, miracle of miracles, he pointed at his own teeth. "I had spinach stuck in mine all afternoon. Football team's pre-game meal is apparently a death trap."

Maya felt something loosen in her chest. Maybe being a teenager wasn't about being perfect. Maybe it was about finding the one other zombie in the room who got it.

"Wanna get some punch?" she asked. "Before someone mistakes us for actual decorations?"

"Only if you promise not to judge my zombie walk."

"Deal. But I'm still judging that face paint."

Tyler grinned, spinach-free and perfect. "Fair enough."