Zombie Summer

The whole swim team thing was Kyle's idea. His plan: build a human pyramid in the community pool, capture the moment for TikTok, and finally get Maya to notice him. Classic Kyle move—ambitious, slightly unhinged, but weirdly charming.

"You look like a zombie," I told Leo as we dragged ourselves to the pool party. Finals week had turned our brains into mush, and somehow I'd let Kyle talk me into this social suicide mission.

"At least zombies don't have to do cannonball formations," Leo muttered, adjusting his swim trunks like they were formal wear.

Maya was already there, lounging under a palm tree with her friends like she owned the place. She caught my eye and did that little wave that makes your stomach do backflips. Kyle saw it too and practically vibrated with energy.

"Alright team," Kyle announced to our motley crew of exhausted teenagers. "We're going swimming—well, more like coordinated drowning—and building that pyramid. Leo, you're base. Max, you're middle. I'm obviously the peak because I have the best hair."

"Your hair is a disaster," Leo said, but he was already wading into the water.

The water felt perfect. The Friday sun was blazing, and for a second, I forgot about everything—SATs, college applications, the knot in my chest whenever Maya smiled at someone who wasn't me.

Then came the pyramid attempt.

It took three tries. The first one collapsed when Leo got distracted by a butterfly. The second one failed because Kyle couldn't stop laughing at his own joke. But the third one— magically, impossibly—we held it. Maya actually grabbed her phone to record.

"Cheese!" Kyle yelled.

And then Leo sneezed.

The whole thing came down in an explosion of limbs and water and chaos. I surfaced, sputtering, to find Maya doubled over with genuine laughter. Not polite laughter. Real, incontrollable laughter.

"You guys," she gasped, "are actually the worst."

"But in a cool way?" Kyle asked, hopeful.

She flipped her wet hair back. "Maybe."

Later, wrapped in towels and watching the sunset behind the palm trees, we looked like actual zombies—exhausted, pruney fingers, hair everywhere. But Maya sat down next to me.

"That was the most epic fail I've ever seen," she said quietly.

"We're aiming for gracefulness next time."

"Good," she said, leaning her shoulder against mine. "Because I'm totally recording that too."

Sometimes the worst moments make the best stories. And sometimes, just sometimes, looking like a complete idiot is exactly what you need.