Zombies Don't Wear Hats to Parties

The bass thumped through Maya's chest like a second heartbeat. She leaned against the kitchen island, nursing a lukewarm soda, feeling exactly like a zombie in this sea of people who seemed to actually know what they were doing. Her phone—her brand new iPhone 15 that she'd saved up for literally forever—was clutched in her hand like a lifeline. She'd already checked it seventeen times since arriving at Jessica's party two hours ago. Zero new notifications. Big surprise.

"Hey, you okay?"

Maya jumped. A guy in a beanie stood there, holding two red cups. He looked familiar—maybe from her AP History class? The one she sat in the back of, always wearing her oversized dad hat pulled low because eye contact with strangers was basically her worst nightmare.

"Yeah," she said, way too quickly. "Just... thinking about my cat."

"Your cat."

"Mochi. He's probably asleep on my pillow right now living his best life while I'm here being socially awkward."

The guy laughed, and it was actually genuine, not mean. "I get that. My dog's probably destroying my sneakers as we speak. I'm Tyler, by the way."

"Maya."

"You know," Tyler said, leaning against the counter beside her, "you don't look like a zombie. You look like someone who'd rather be anywhere but here."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Totally." He gestured toward the living room where people were dancing. "Half the people out there are just performing, you know? Like they're in a movie. But you're just... existing. It's refreshing."

Maya felt something weird in her chest. Not bad-weird. Good-weird. "You're not out there either."

"Touché." Tyler's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and made a face. "My mom. The classic 'it's late' text. That's my cue to become a real zombie tomorrow morning."

"Same," Maya said, surprising herself by meaning it.

"Hey." He paused at the back door. "Same time next terrible party?"

"Maybe," Maya called back, a genuine smile spreading across her face for the first time all night. She slipped her phone into her pocket and didn't check it again—not once.