Zombie Runners Don't Look Back

The 6:45 AM bus ride to Jackson High required military-grade caffeine. Maya slumped against the window, feeling like a total zombie after staying up until 2 AM doomscrolling through everyone else's perfect lives. Her hoodie swallowed her frame— armor against the world.

"You look dead," said Sam, sliding into the seat beside her. He'd somehow remembered to brush his hair. The bar was low.

"Rough night," Maya muttered, clutching her phone. The group chat from last weekend still haunted her— screenshots of things she'd said, blown out of proportion. Everyone had opinions about everyone else's business. It was exhausting.

Her older brother Derek had dropped her off in his piece-of-crap truck that barely started. "Don't let them get in your head, M," he'd said. "That's a bull mindset." Whatever that meant.

At lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with its usual electric undercurrent of who was sitting where. Maya spotted Emma at their usual table— but Emma was laughing with Riley and Brianna, the girls who'd made that TikTok about Maya last week.

She kept walking. Found herself at the far table with the cross-country kids. That's where she saw him— Caleb, the quiet boy who always drew in his notebook during English. His dog, a scruffy terrier mix, waited outside the school gates every afternoon. Caleb'd told her once that Buster was the only one who never asked for anything.

"Hey," Caleb said, barely looking up from his sketch. "You're Maya, right? You sit behind me in history."

"Yeah. Hi."

"I'm running to the coffee shop after school," he said, still drawing. "Want to come? My treat."

Maya's chest did that weird fluttery thing— but not the fake kind from romantic movies. Something realer. "Actually," she said, "I have track practice."

"Oh, nice. What event?"

"The 400. I'm terrible at it, but... I don't know. I keep showing up."

Caleb finally looked up. His eyes were genuinely kind. "That's what matters, though. Right?"

The hallway announcements crackled over the PA system. Some reminder about prom tickets. The noise and pressure of everything— grades, friends, the future pressing down like a weight.

"Yeah," Maya said. "I guess it is."

After school, she laced up her running shoes at the track. Coach blew the whistle. Maya took off, lungs burning, legs pumping, everything falling away except the rhythm of her own breath. For a moment, she wasn't worrying about what anyone thought. She was just running.

Her phone buzzed in her bag— probably Emma, probably nothing important. It could wait.

Some things were worth showing up for.