Zombie State of Mind

My phone buzzed. Again.

"You coming to Jake's party?" Marcus texted. "Everyone's gonna be there."

I stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles above my bed. Freshman year had turned Marcus into someone I barely recognized—cool, distant, too grown for video games and Taco Tuesdays. The old Marcus would never ask if I was "coming." He'd just show up at my door with his Switch.

Buster, my chocolate lab, nudged my hand with his wet snout. He'd been my actual friend lately, the only one who didn't care that I hadn't cracked a smile in three weeks.

"Yeah," I typed back. "Sure."

I was zombie-walking through life anyway. Why not zombie-walk through a party?

Running helped sometimes. Coach said cross country was about endurance, but really it was just about running until your brain stopped screaming. That night, though, I didn't run. I let Mom drive me to Jake's house in her minivan while she asked if I'd made any "nice young friends" yet.

The party smelled like cheap cologne and desperation. Someone had brought a fake ID and scored a case of whatever beer was on sale. Girls in dresses too short for October weather clustered in the kitchen, laughing too loud at jokes that weren't funny.

Marcus found me near the bathroom. He had two girls hanging off his arms.

"Yo! You made it!" He was slurring already. "This is, uh... what's your name again?"

One of the girls rolled her eyes. "You're so drunk, Marcus."

My palms went sweaty. I suddenly remembered why I'd stopped coming to these things.

"Hey," I said. "Cool party."

"Bro, you gotta try this beer. It's nasty but you feel like a zombie after, you know?" Marcus laughed like it was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. "Like, literally walking dead."

Buster would've rolled his eyes too.

"Actually," I said, backing toward the door, "I forgot. My dog. He's sick."

"Your dog?" One of the girls made a sympathetic noise. "Oh no, what's wrong with him?"

"Compulsive lying," I said, and walked out.

Buster met me at the door, tail wagging like I'd been gone for years. We lay on the floor together, his head on my stomach, and I felt something shift in my chest. Maybe next time Marcus texted, I'd tell the truth: I'd rather stay here with the only real friend I had left.

Some friendships die. Some dogs stay loyal. And sometimes the bravest thing is walking away before you become a zombie too.