Zombie Summer at the Pyramid

The problem with being sixteen in July is that everyone expects you to be living your "best life" but you're actually just existing in a permanent state of zombie. Three weeks of finals, zero sleep, and now here I was at Tyler's end-of-school pool party, pretending my brain wasn't literally mush.

"Yo Marcus, you good?" Tyler asked, floating in the pool on his ridiculous inflatable pyramid – because apparently regular pool floats weren't enough for the king of Northwood High. His dad's money made everything possible, including the social pyramid that Tyler sat comfortably atop.

"Yeah, just tired," I mumbled, which was the biggest understatement of the century. I was running on caffeine and desperation.

"Join the club," said Lena from the pool's edge. She was Tyler's neighbor and possibly the only person here who didn't seem to care about climbing the social ladder. Her cutoffs were actual cutoffs, not the trendy kind, and she'd been reading the same paperback since May.

I slid into the water, letting the chlorine wash away the sticky humidity. For a second, I didn't have to be the guy who got straight A's or the friend who always had it together. I could just float.

"You know," Lena said, setting down her book, "ancient Egyptians built pyramids so their pharaohs could ascend to the stars. Now we just use them as pool toys."

Tyler laughed. "Deep. You always this philosophical at parties?"

"Only when I've had too much sun," she shot back, and something in her tone made me smile for the first time in weeks.

The sun started dipping behind the trees, turning the pool water gold. Someone put on music. People were laughing, snapchatting, living their carefully curated teenage lives. But there in the water, floating beside Tyler's stupid pyramid, I realized something: maybe the zombie state wasn't permanent. Maybe you just had to find the right people to be undead with.

"Wanna get ice cream?" Lena asked suddenly. "I'm dying here."

"Literally zombie behavior," I said, and she laughed.

"Come with. You too, pyramid king."

Tyler paddled over. "Only if I can bring my float."

"Deal."

And that's how I learned that the best moments aren't at the top of the pyramid or drowning at the bottom. They're the ones where you're too tired to care about status, just three kids getting ice cream in their wet swimsuits, zombie-walking toward whatever comes next.