Zones: A Friendship Apocalypse

Marcus hadn't been the same since his crush ghosted him after homecoming. Two weeks of walking through hallways like a literal zombie—hoodie up, dead eyes, responding to everything with literal grunts. It was painful to watch.

So I did what any best friend would do: I went full spy mode. Started tracking his movements (which wasn't hard, he only went to school, home, and his roof), monitoring his social media (zero posts, not even lurking), and finally, last night, I spotted the anomaly.

Marcus was swimming in the apartment complex pool at 2 AM.

I knew this because I'd been sitting in my car, iPod on shuffle, eating gas station snacks like a total creep. When I saw the splash, I almost choked on my Cheetos. Nobody swims in November. Nobody swims when they're clinically depressed.

Unless...

I ran back to my apartment, grabbed the other thing I'd bought at the 7-Eleven, then sprinted back to the pool fence.

"Marcus!" I whisper-shouted.

He treaded water, looking at me like I was the ghost. "What?"

"Get out here. I brought supplies."

He hoisted himself over the edge, dripping wet in his basketball shorts, shivering.

"Orange soda?" He read the label. "Seriously?"

"It's your favorite. Or it used to be, before you turned into undead."

Marcus cracked the tab, took a long swallow, then sat down on the pool edge, feet dangling in the water. "She's dating Tyler now."

I sat beside him. The water rippled around our legs. "Tyler wears boat shoes unironically. His soul left his body in seventh grade."

He laughed—actually laughed. "He's not that bad."

"He's a zombie, Marcus. Tyler has been coasting on decent hair since 2019. Meanwhile, you're out here swimming at 2 AM like you're training for something."

"Maybe I am."

"What? The apocalypse?"

Marcus took another sip of orange soda, watching the steam rise from his wet arms into the cold air. "No. For the next time. For when it matters."

I bumped his shoulder. "You're already winning, bro. You're the only person I know who would go swimming instead of lying in bed listening to sad playlists. That's not zombie behavior. That's main character energy."

He was quiet for a minute. Then: "You think she'll notice?"

"Notice what?"

"That I'm not dead."

I stood up, offered him my hand. "She's gonna notice when you stop caring if she notices. That's when the real comeback starts."

Marcus grabbed my hand, pulled himself up, then crushed the empty soda can and tossed it in the recycling bin like a three-pointer. We walked back to our apartments as the sky turned gray with dawn.

"Hey," he said, before ducking into his building. "Thanks for the spy stuff."

"That's what friends are for."

He smiled—really smiled. "Tomorrow night? Same time?"

"Only if you bring the orange soda next time."

"Deal."

Some zombies just need a little wake-up call.