Zombie State of Mind

My palms were sweating so much I could probably water a plant. First real party, and I was already calculating exit strategies. The backyard was packed—like, shoulder-to-shoulder chaos—yet everyone was somehow in their own world.

"Dude, you want this?" Marcus held out a plastic cup. The liquid inside was a violent shade of orange.

"What is it?"

"Orange soda and... stuff." He winked. "Chill, it's barely spiked."

I took it because refusing felt like admitting I was lame. The plastic cup felt slippery against my damp palms. Great. Now I was that kid clutching a drink like it was a lifeline.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Probably Jordan's labradoodle, Snowball, who was definitely not supposed to be outside during parties. I scanned the crowd, feeling like the world's biggest poser. Everyone else moved with this natural, easy grace. I moved like I was walking through invisible Jell-O.

The guy I'd been crushing on for literal months—Ethan—was by the pool. He was laughing at something, head thrown back, hair falling in his face. I took a sip of the orange concoction. It burned my throat but settled somewhere in my chest, warm and strange.

Then I saw them. The Phone Zombies.

They were scattered everywhere—kids my age, faces illuminated by blue light, thumbs moving like their lives depended on it. Some were sitting by the pool, others leaning against trees, all dead-eyed and scrolling. It was like a literal apocalypse scenario, except with better lighting and trap music.

Ethan pulled out his phone.

My stomach did that thing where it drops like three floors. No way. Not him too.

But then—"Hey!" His voice cut through the bass. "Who wants to play chicken fight?"

Phone faces lifted. The blue screens dimmed. And suddenly the zombies were actually people again.

Marcus elbowed me. "That's your cue, by the way."

"What?"

"Go talk to him. He's literally waiting for someone to play against." Marcus sighed dramatically. "I'll be your wingman. You're welcome."

The dog—Snowball—came barreling past, knocking into someone's phone. The device flew, hit the grass with a soft thud. Everyone stared. Then everyone laughed. And somehow, that tiny disaster broke whatever weird tension had been holding me back.

My palms were still sweaty. The orange drink was still mysterious. But I walked toward the pool anyway.

Sometimes you gotta be a little brave. Even when you're terrified. Even when you feel like a zombie yourself. Especially then.