Zombie Sleepover Spy Mission

I felt like a zombie. Third all-nighter in a row, fueled by caffeine and anxiety. The summer before sophomore year was supposed to be chill, but here I was, hiding behind Maya's bedroom door like some kind of incompetent spy.

"You're being dramatic," Maya whispered, scrolling through Jake's Instagram. "He posted a story. Want to see?"

"Nope." I pressed my hands against my burning face. "Absolutely not. I will function like a normal human being who doesn't need to digitally stalk her crush every five seconds."

"The function part is debatable," she said, gesturing at my dark circles. "You look like you haven't slept since June."

"Whatever." I flopped onto her bed. "Just tell me. Did he mention the party?"

"Not yet. But Emma posted a story wearing that papaya dress from Tilly's. The one you wanted."

I made a face. "Of course she did. Everything about Emma is perfect. She probably eats spinach salads for fun and has naturally flawless skin."

"You're spiraling."

"I'm not spiraling. I'm just saying—"

Maya's door flew open. Her dad filled the doorway, arms crossed. "Girls, kitchen. Now."

We followed him downstairs. The kitchen table was covered with spinach, papaya, something green and leafy, and a blender.

"Your mother and I are doing that detox cleanse," he announced. "You're doing it with us."

"Dad," Maya started, "we're fifteen. We need actual food."

"You need health. You think you can survive on chips and soda forever?" He slammed a bag of spinach onto the counter. "Make the smoothie."

This man was more stubborn than a bull. And not the cute, romantic kind. The "won't let you borrow the car until you finish your college applications" kind.

"Fine," I said, grabbing the blender. "But if I die of chlorophyll overdose, my ghost is haunting you forever."

We spent twenty minutes forcing down something that tasted like grass and disappointment. Then my phone buzzed.

Jake: hey r u coming to the party tonight?

I stared at the screen. My heart did something stupid.

"Well?" Maya leaned over my shoulder. "What are you going to say?"

"I don't know." I typed and deleted three responses. "I mean, what if it's awkward? What if I say something weird? What if I'm just the awkward spinach-breath girl who shows up and everyone laughs at me behind my back?"

"First of all, your breath smells like regret, not spinach. Second, you're overthinking this. Just say yes."

"What if—"

"What if you go and it's fine and you have a good time and maybe, just maybe, something actually happens for once instead of you just watching from the sidelines like a total weirdo?"

She wasn't wrong. That was the worst part.

I typed: yeah! see u there

"There," she said. "Was that so hard?"

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"Someone has to. Now let's go find some actual food before I fade away."

Later that night, standing in Jake's backyard while someone's older brother DJ'd from the porch, I realized something: zombie or not, at least I wasn't watching anymore.

And that felt like something.