Goldfish Memories & Spinach Smoothies

Maya dragged herself through third period AP Bio feeling like a straight-up zombie. Two weeks of finals plus her phone blowing up with notifications until 3 AM will do that to you. She caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror later—dark circles under her eyes, hair in a messy bun that was giving 'I gave up three days ago' energy.

"You look... thorough," Quinn said, leaning against the row of sinks while fixing their eyeliner. Maya's stomach did that thing it always did when Quinn was around—like a goldfish doing laps in a bowl, endless and pointless.

"Thanks for the glowing review," Maya deadpanned. "I'm just channeling undead aesthetic. It's called commitment."

Quinn laughed, and Maya felt that weird rush in her chest that was half validation, half terror. She'd been crushing on Quinn since October, when they'd bonded over mutual hate of the cafeteria's mystery meat.

The cafeteria incident happened on Friday. Maya, trying to reinvent herself as someone who actually cared about wellness and sustainability (read: someone Quinn might find interesting), decided to bring her own lunch. She'd spent thirty minutes making what Instagram called a "life-changing spinach smoothie" with mango, coconut water, and enough kale to qualify as a spiritual experience.

She was mid-sip when someone bumped into her. The bright green mixture splashed everywhere—her new white shirt, the table, somehow even three seats down. The entire sophomore section went silent.

"Is that... is that sludge?" someone whispered.

Maya's face burned. She grabbed her stuff and bolted, hearing laughter erupt behind her. She hid in the library bathroom, reviewing every life choice that led to this moment.

Quinn found her there twenty minutes later. They sat on the floor, Quinn's clipboard from GSA sliding across the tiles.

"That smoothie looked fire though," Quinn said.

"It looked like pond water," Maya groaned.

"Same difference." Quinn shrugged. "Hey, we're doing a zombie walk for climate action next month. You should come. We're doing makeup and everything. Lean into the undead aesthetic."

"Is that your way of saying you saw my spinach disaster and still think I'm cool enough to hang out with?"

"I mean..." Quinn grinned. "You survived the cafeteria of judgment. That's hardcore. Plus, anyone who drinks their vegetables is clearly committed to the bit."

Maya laughed, the embarrassment settling into something warmer. Maybe reinventing herself wasn't about smoothies or aesthetic choices. Maybe it was just about showing up, even when things got messy.

"So," Maya said. "This zombie walk. What time?"

"Saturday at 10. Bring your own spinach."