Zombies at the Deep End

The pool sat behind the old community center like a forgotten secret, its surface slick with algae and memories. Maya and I had been coming here since middle school, back when we were just two weird kids who'd rather talk about anime than parties. But now? Junior year had turned Maya into someone I barely recognized—crop tops, lip gloss, and a phone that was always buzzing with texts from people who used to ignore us.

"You're basically a zombie," I told her, watching her scroll through Instagram instead of, you know, actually looking at the actual sky full of actual stars. "Like, literally undead. Maya died and her phone is piloting her body now."

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Not all of us can be edgy and mysterious, Lena. Some of us have to actually maintain social capital."

"Social capital? Since when do you talk like a LinkedIn influencer?"

"Since you stopped caring about anything!" She snapped, and I flinched. "You're just—content being alone all the time. I can't live like that."

The silence stretched between us, thicker than the humid summer air. Then something moved at the edge of the pool—scruffy, orange, and absolutely NOT a zombie. A cat. It stared at us with mismatched eyes like it knew exactly how awkward this moment was.

"Is that... is that Mr. Henderson's cat?" Maya whispered, suddenly the middle school version of herself again. "The one that went missing last winter?"

The cat approached cautiously, sniffing Maya's glittery sandal before letting out the most pathetic, demanding meow I'd ever heard. Something about it broke the tension. Maya scooped it up, and this cat—who I was pretty sure was definitely NOT a zombie, despite local legends about undead pets roaming the neighborhood—purred like a tiny motorboat.

"He's alive," Maya said softly, like she'd just realized something important. "Like, actually alive."

"Yeah," I said. "That's generally how cats work."

"No, I mean—everyone said he died. But he didn't. He was just... out here. Living his best life."

She looked at me then, really looked at me, for the first time in months. "Maybe I've been the zombie," she said quietly.

"Preach," I said, and we both laughed. The cat escaped her grip and stalked around the pool's edge like he owned the place, pausing to drink from the questionable water.

"We should tell someone he's here," Maya said, but she didn't move. She just sat there, tracing patterns on the concrete with her finger. "Or... we could come back tomorrow? With actual food?"

"Like, a secret mission?" I asked, feeling something light and hopeful spark in my chest.

"Like a secret mission," she agreed, and just like that, the Maya I knew was back—sort of. She was still wearing the crop top and the lip gloss, still holding her phone. But she put it facedown on the concrete and didn't pick it up again until we left, walking home together under streetlights while the cat watched from his poolside throne, definitely not a zombie, absolutely perfect.