Goldfish in the Spinach Patch

Maya stood in front of the bathroom mirror at 7 AM, looking like a straight-up **zombie**. Third consecutive all-nighter this week, thanks to AP Euro history and her new regime of "actually trying." Her mom called through the door, reminding her to take her **vitamin** gummies—like those chewable bears were gonna fix her entire life.

At lunch, she sat with her new friend group, watching Leo poke at the school **goldfish** pond with a stick. The fish had zero memory span, apparently—kind of like how everyone at school forgot she'd been the quiet girl forever until she suddenly became social media famous for that viral TikTok.

"You good?" Leo asked, sliding onto the bench beside her. "You look... thoughtful."

"Just existential dread," Maya said, which made him laugh. She'd had a crush on him since September—when he'd called her a **fox** after she roasted their English teacher's weird obsession with symbolism. But now he was dating Chloe, whose lunch consisted entirely of **spinach** leaves and sparkling water because she was "listening to her body" or whatever.

The thing was, nobody knew that Maya's glow-up was completely manufactured. She'd started dressing different, talking different, posting aesthetic photos at golden hour. But inside? Still the same overthinking weirdo who collected vintage seashells and cried during pet commercials.

"Earth to Maya," Leo waved his hand in her face. "Chloe's having a thing Saturday. You should come."

"Sure," she said, even though she'd rather stay home re-reading the same manga for the seventh time.

That night, she stared at her phone screen, watching another notification from another person wanting to be friends now. Maybe everyone was kind of a zombie—just floating through, pretending they knew what they were doing. She took her vitamin gummy anyway. Fake it till you make it, right?

The goldfish in the pond would forget everything in three seconds. Sometimes she wished she could too.