Goldfish Aren't Supposed to Float

Maya's head throbbed like someone was playing dubstep inside her skull. She'd stayed up until 3 AM scrolling through TikTok, watching Jordan's story loop over and over like a glitch in the matrix. Now she moved through first period like a **zombie**, half-dead and definitely not thriving.

"You look like actual death," whispered Kiara from the desk beside her, flipping throughAP Euro notes with manicured nails. "Rough night?"

Maya just groaned. Everything sucked. Jordan had posted that photo of Taylor's party—Taylor, whose Instagram aesthetic was literally goals—and Maya hadn't been invited. Again. It was like she was invisible, or worse, like she was that socially awkward kid nobody thought to include.

When she got home, her little brother Leo was hysterical in the living room.

"Bubbles won't move!" he wailed, gesturing to the fishbowl on the coffee table. Inside, Fin the **goldfish** drifted sideways, belly-up like a tiny orange boat that had definitely seen better days.

"He's just... resting," Maya tried, but her voice cracked. They both knew what upside-down fish meant.

They held a backyard ceremony. Maya dug a hole near the rosebushes while Leo sobbed into his hoodie. The **water** from the fishbowl glugged into the grave like it was trying to escape. Maya felt weirdly emotional—she'd gotten that goldfish for her own seventh birthday, back when things felt simpler.

Then Buster, their neighbor's massive golden retriever, bounded over like a furry chaos demon, tail wagging like a metronome on crack. The **dog** didn't care about dead fish or social exclusion or existential freshman angst. He just wanted belly rubs and to maybe eat the dead fish if nobody was watching.

"Buster, NO," Maya yelled, dragging the hundred-pound creature away from Fin's shallow grave. But as she wrestled with the happily panting beast, she cracked up. Like, actually laughed.

Later that night, her phone buzzed. Jordan had posted again—a story that said "small kickback at my place, who's coming?"

Maya's thumb hovered. She could stay home, scroll and spiral, or she could go. Maybe not being the perfect Taylor type wasn't the end of the world. Maybe being the weird girl who buried a fish while fighting a golden retriever was actually kind of legendary.

She typed "I'm in" and hit send, then let Buster lick her hand without even wiping it off first.