Zombie Protocol

Marcus stood outside the house party, adjusting his dad's vintage fedora like it was some kind of armor. The hat smelled like Old Spice and questionable decisions, exactly what he needed for tonight.

"You good, bro?" His best friend Ty slapped him on the back. "You look like a zombie that accidentally walked into the wrong dimension."

"I'm chilling," Marcus lied, though his stomach was doing gymnastics. This was his first real party since transferring to Northwood High, and social anxiety had been his constant companion all week. Three hours of sleep each night would do that to you.

Inside, the bass hit so hard Marcus's teeth vibrated. Someone's golden retriever—a dog named Kevin, apparently—had claimed the couch as his throne, judging everyone with those eyes. Marcus had been here ten minutes and already felt like he was underwater.

Then he saw her. Chloe from AP Chem, standing by the makeshift dance floor, wearing this hoodie that said ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE RESPONSE TEAM across the back. Of course she'd be into that stuff. Marcus had been crushing on her since September, when they'd partnered for that lab where he'd almost set the Bunsen burner on fire.

"Hey," someone bumped into him. Some sophomore in a letter jacket. "Nice hat. You going to a fedora convention?"

Laughter rippled around them. Marcus's face burned. This was it. The social execution.

But then Kevin the dog chose that exact moment to bark at the sophomore, loud and commanding, like some tiny furry judge slamming his gavel. The laughter shifted direction.

"Alright, Kevin," someone called out. "Tell us how you really feel."

Marcus locked eyes with Chloe. She was grinning. She actually thought it was funny—not him, the situation.

"Nice hat," she mouthed.

That night, Marcus learned something important: being himself—even the awkward, sleep-deprived, terrible-at-parties version—was way better than trying to be someone he wasn't. And Kevin? Kevin became his spirit animal.

Sometimes you gotta embrace the zombie energy to find the moments that actually matter.