Dead Fish Walking

Maya's phone buzzed with another group chat invite to Jake's party — her third rejection this month. She stared at her ceiling fan, feeling like the absolute **zombie** everyone said she was. No energy, no social life, just endless AP classes and that weird twitch in her left eye from stress.

"You're barely existing, Maya," her mom had said that morning, sliding a bottle of neon orange **vitamin** supplements across the kitchen counter. "Maybe these will help. Your cousin swears by them."

Maya had rolled her eyes so hard she saw her own brain. But now, alone in her room with nothing but her pet **goldfish** Bubbles for company, she reconsidered. Bubbles floated near the glass, his mouth opening and closing like he had something profound to say.

"What do you know?" Maya whispered. "You've got a three-second memory and a castle made of plastic."

Her phone lit up again. Jake: "hey, r u coming?"

Something snapped. Maya grabbed the vitamins, shook two into her palm, and swallowed them dry. She threw on her ripped jeans and that hoodie she'd spent way too much on — the one that made her look effortlessly chill instead of desperately trying.

The party hit her like a physical force. Cheap punch, flashing lights, people everywhere. Jake spotted her immediately, his grin widening.

"You came!"

"Yeah," Maya said, feeling that strange buzz kick in — maybe the vitamins, maybe adrenaline. "I'm here."

They ended up on the back porch, just the two of them, sharing Bluetooth headphones and watching suburban stars.

"I thought you hated parties," Jake said.

"I hate being tired all the time," Maya admitted. "But I figured out I can be tired AND have fun."

"That's the most you thing you've ever said." He laughed, and Maya felt something shift inside her chest.

Later, walking home under streetlamps, she thought about Bubbles floating in his tiny world, content with his plastic castle and the person who remembered him every day. Maybe being a goldfish wasn't so bad — maybe it was about finding your world and staying in it, on your own terms.

Her phone buzzed. Jake: same time next week?

Maya smiled, already planning her outfit. Being a zombie was temporary. Being herself was forever.