Goldfish Days

Maya felt like a zombie. Not the cool, Instagram-worthy kind with dramatic eye makeup and fake blood — the actual exhaustion kind, the kind that comes from staying up until 3 AM scrolling through Fin's posts, wondering why he liked Sarah's photo but not hers.

"You good, marathon girl?" Her bestie Jai nudged her as they walked toward first period. "You look like you've been running for days."

"Cross-country practice," Maya lied. She hadn't been to practice all week. She'd been too busy in her feelings, which was pathetic, honestly.

At lunch, something unexpected happened. Fin actually sat at their table.

"Hey, Maya," he said, all casual, like his heart hadn't been doing gymnastics too. "My sister won this at the carnival and she's allergic or something. Want it?"

He pushed a small plastic bag toward her. Inside, a tiny goldfish swam in cramped circles, looking as confused as Maya felt.

"Uh, sure?"

"Cool." Fin smiled, and suddenly Maya wasn't a zombie anymore. She was awake, fully, terrifyingly awake.

That night, she stared at the goldfish bowl on her desk. "You and me both, little guy," she whispered. Just swimming in circles, over and over, waiting for something to happen.

But the next morning, the goldfish was floating at the top.

Maya's eyes burned. Not over a fish she'd had for twelve hours, but over everything — over Fin, over high school, over the running and the waiting and the feeling that everyone else had figured out this whole life thing while she was just pretending.

Her mom found her like that, forehead pressed against the cool glass of the bowl.

"Oh, honey," she said softly. "He's not dead. He's sleeping. Goldfish do that sometimes. They just... stop moving for a bit. Then they swim again."

Maya blinked. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. It's called resting. Maybe you should try it."

Maya's phone buzzed. A text from Fin: saw you at cross-country today. you're fast.

The goldfish flicked its tail. A tiny, almost-invisible movement.

Maya picked up her phone. Her fingers hovered, then typed: thanks. maybe you can come watch sometime?

Outside her window, the world kept running. But for the first time in forever, Maya wasn't trying to catch up. She was just swimming along, one small circle at a time, figuring it out as she went.