The Goldfish Confession

I felt like a **zombie** shuffling through the hallway, my phone's battery at 3% and my social battery at negative 10. Junior year was eating me alive. When I reached my locker, the unmistakable voice of Marcus echoed down the corridor—that guy was 100% **bull**, all talk and swagger, like he was trying to compensate for something.

"Hey, Marina, having fun talking to your fish again?" Marcus leaned against the locker next to mine. His crew snickered like they'd rehearsed it.

My face burned. Yeah, I talked to my **goldfish**. Finnegan was the only one who didn't make everything weird or transactional. He'd just float there with those googly eyes, listening to me rant about AP Chem and how Chloe still hadn't texted back after that party where I'd apparently said something "cringe" according to her Snapchat story.

"At least he doesn't interrupt every three seconds," I shot back, surprising myself.

Marcus's face flickered with something—surprise? Respect? "Whatever. Just messing with you."

He walked away, but not before I saw his phone light up with a notification from someone named "Mom" with a heart emoji. The so-called bull had a mom who loved him. The thought made my chest tight.

That afternoon, I sat by Finnegan's bowl, dropping in those gross flakes that smelled like old cereal. "You know what," I whispered, "Marcus is probably dealing with something too. Maybe his weirdness is just his defense mechanism. Like how I pretend being alone is my choice instead of admitting I'm lonely."

Finnegan blew a bubble. I took it as agreement.

The next day, I found Marcus at his locker, scrolling through something that looked like college applications. "Hey," I said. "You applying to State?"

He jumped. "Uh, yeah. My dad wants me to stay close. But I kinda want to go somewhere else."

"Where?"

"Colorado. For the snowboarding. But don't tell anyone that, they'll think I'm soft."

"Your secret's safe with me," I said. "And for what it's worth, snowboarding's legit."

For a second, the bull persona dropped. He almost smiled—like, a real one. "Thanks, Marina."

Maybe we weren't zombies after all. Maybe we were all just swimming in different bowls, pretending we knew where we were going.