Goldfish Funeral in the Bathroom

The bathroom mirror showed someone I barely recognized—blue-black **hair**, two nose piercings, and eyes that looked dead. **Zombie** mode: activated. That's what Mia called it, anyway, when she found me hiding in the stalls during third period.

"Your mom's here," she'd said, leaning against the door like she owned the hallway. "Again."

I'd washed my hands three times. My palms were still sweating.

Now, standing in front of the bathroom mirror at Tyler's party, I couldn't stop touching my hair. My mom would lose it when she saw what I'd done—permanent dye, nothing temporary. But she'd been too busy with her new boyfriend to notice I'd been gone three hours.

"Yo, you good?" This guy named Jay materialized beside me. He had that vibe, you know? Like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, unlike me.

"Just... needed air."

"Cool." He handed me a cup. "It's just **spinach** dip and chips in there. Tyler's mom went all out."

I stared at him. "Spinach dip? At a high school party?"

"Bro, I know." He laughed, and something in my chest loosened. "But it's actually lowkey fire."

I followed him back to the kitchen, where people were crowded around this tiny fountain bowl thing on the counter.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Some sophomore brought a **goldfish**," someone said. "It did a whole backflip and just... checked out."

The fish floated belly-up, flashing silver under the pendant lights. And suddenly, I was nine years old again, watching my dad pack his suitcase, feeling like everything I loved was just going to leave without saying goodbye.

I started laughing. I couldn't stop. I was grieving a goldfish I'd known for five seconds at a stranger's party while my mom was probably leaving me another voicemail I wouldn't answer.

"You good?" Jay asked again, but differently this time.

"Yeah," I said, wiping my eyes. "I just... this is so dumb, but I feel bad for the fish."

He didn't make fun of me. Instead, he grabbed a solo cup and fished it out. "We should give it a proper send-off."

So we did—a funeral in the backyard, with about eight people who'd had too much spinach dip, saying nice things about a goldfish named Bubbles (none of us knew if that was actually its name). I kept catching Jay's eye, and he kept smiling, and when my palms started sweating again, I didn't wipe them on my dress.

Later, my phone buzzed. Three missed calls from Mom. I watched the screen go dark, then I stuck it in my pocket and let Jay teach me how to spin, clumsy and laughing, while someone's bad playlist thumped through the speakers and the dead goldfish settled into its forever home under the tomato plants.

I wasn't a zombie anymore. I was just... me. New hair, new problems, still here.