Goldfish Memories in the Dead of Winter

The week before finals, I was basically a zombie. Three hours of sleep, energy drinks for breakfast, and a AP History textbook fused to my hand. My iPhone was my only tether to reality, though half the time I was just doom-scrolling through people's highlight reels while my life felt like a blooper reel.

Then the power went out during first period.

"RIP to our gpas," someone whispered, but I caught Jason Chen's eye across the dark classroom and we both cracked up. Jason, who I'd been lowkey crushing on since September, who sat behind me in English and always had the perfect annotations. Jason, whose brother had graduated and left behind his reputation as the guy who'd literally bear-crawled across the stage at graduation.

We got sent to the gym, where someone's pet goldfish from the science lab was now swimming in a punch bowl on the stage. The administration had lost their minds trying to corral two thousand hyped-up teenagers into one space.

"This is fine," I muttered to myself, sliding down the wall to sit.

"Totally fine." Jason dropped beside me, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. "I mean, at least we're not stuck in calculus learning limits."

"Small mercies." I leaned my head back against the gym wall. "I'd rather be a zombie here than awake in there."

He laughed—this actual, genuine sound that made something in my chest do that embarrassing flutter thing. "So what's on your mind, besides how much you hate limits?"

"Everything." The words just slipped out. "My parents think I should apply to seven schools. My best friend keeps trying to set me up with her cousin. I feel like I'm underwater. Like that goldfish."

Jason studied me. "You know, goldfish actually have way better memories than people think. They can remember stuff for months."

"Since when do you know fish facts?"

"Since I had to do that project in bio freshman year." He nudged my sneaker with his. "You're not underwater, Maya. You're just... growing. It sucks, but it's not permanent."

"Easy for you to say. You're Jason Chen. You probably have your whole life mapped out."

"I have an idea," he corrected. "Doesn't mean I'm not scared. Nobody's got this figured out. We're all just faking it till we make it."

Something about hearing him admit that—perfect-annotation Jason—made the air feel lighter. Like maybe we were all just zombies surviving high school together, and that was okay.

"Hey," he said softly. "You want to get food when the power comes back? My treat. We can bear our souls some more, or just complain about teachers."

"I'd like that," I said, and my phone buzzed in my pocket but I didn't even check it.

Sometimes the best memories aren't the ones you post. They're the ones you just live, even if they start with a power outage and a goldfish in a punch bowl.