Zombie State of Mind

I'd been a zombie for three weeks straight. Midterms had turned my brain into mush, and honestly? I was thriving in the undead lifestyle. Sleep deprivation had become my aesthetic.

"You need to get out, Maya," my best friend Sasha insisted. "There's a party at Leo's tonight. His cousin's band is playing."

I groaned. "Hard pass. I have a date with my cat, Luna, and a Netflix marathon."

"No. You're coming. Wear that cute dress you bought last month and never touched."

So there I was, at a crowded house party, feeling fake as hell. The punch bowl smelled like fruit salad and bad decisions. Someone handed me a cup with something yellow-orange.

"Try this! It's papaya juice with sprite. So exotic!"

I took a sip. It tasted like expensive disappointment. "Love it," I lied. Because that's what we do, right? Pretend to like things to fit in.

Outside on the porch, I spotted this guy from my English class. Derek. He was leaning against the railing, looking as out of place as I felt. Which was saying something, because I'd been accidentally wearing my slippers since seventh period.

"Hiding?" I asked.

He jumped. "Oh. Yeah. Social battery's at 3%. You?"

"I'm literally running on caffeine and anxiety."

We both laughed, and then lightning cracked across the sky. The sudden flash illuminated everything - his crooked smile, my terrible papaya-stained teeth, the moment we were both awkwardly pretending we weren't checking each other out.

"That's our cue," he said, as thunder shook the porch.

We made a run for it through the rain, dodging into a covered bus stop. Soaked. Laughing. My perfectly curled hair was ruined, and I didn't even care.

"So," he said, shivering. "About that papaya punch..."

"It was terrible, right?"

"Literally the worst thing I've ever tasted."

I couldn't stop grinning. Sometimes the zombie state lifts. Sometimes you find someone who's also faking their way through the party. And sometimes, in the middle of a storm, you finally feel real again.

"Want to get actual food?" I asked. "My cat's probably waiting, but she can share."

"Only if there's no papaya involved."

"Deal."

The lightning flashed again, and I swear I saw everything clearly for the first time in weeks.