Zombie Summer

I felt like a **zombie**. Three weeks of summer camp counseling had turned me into someone who woke up at 6 AM and actually enjoyed it. The old me—the one who stayed up until 3 AM gaming and slept past noon—was officially dead.

"You okay?" Maya asked from beside the pool.

I jumped, nearly knocking my **vitamin** water into the water. "Yeah. Just tired."

Maya Rodriguez. The girl I'd been crushing on since seventh grade. The one who somehow looked effortless in a swimsuit while I felt like a gangly giraffe attempting **swimming** for the first time.

"Here." She pressed something unfamiliar into my hand. A **papaya**. "My mom's obsessed with them. Said they're supposed to give you, like, insane energy."

I stared at it. "What do I even—"

"Just eat it. Trust me."

I took a bite. Not terrible. Not amazing, but Maya was watching me with this intensity that made my heart do that stupid fluttery thing it always did around her.

"So," she said, splashing water with her feet. "Everyone's going to Jesse's house tonight. His parents finally got actual **cable** again, so we're doing a horror marathon."

"Zombie movies?" I guessed.

"Obviously." She smiled, and something shifted in her expression. "You should come. If you want."

The old me would've panicked. Would've made up some excuse about being busy. But the zombie me—the one who'd spent three weeks forcing shy kids into the pool and making friendship bracelets out of shoelaces—just nodded.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that."

Maybe growing up wasn't about becoming someone completely different. Maybe it was about letting the parts of yourself that you thought were dead actually come back to life.

"Cool," Maya said, and she didn't look away. "Pick you up at seven?"

"Seven works."

I finished the papaya. It actually wasn't that bad. Some things, I was learning, were worth trying twice.