The Goldfish Incident

The pool deck was slick with chlorinated dread.

"Good morning, zombies," Coach Martinez barked, clipboard in hand like a weapon of mass destruction. Maya groaned along with everyone else. Seven AM swim practice felt illegal. Her limbs moved on autopilot, preserved only by caffeine and spite.

Today was Day 3 of the inaugural ZOMBIE SURVIVAL SWIM MEET, Martinez's latest nightmare invention. The premise: swim your heats while pretending the water was infested. "Because you never know when the apocalypse will strike," he'd announced yesterday, dead serious.

Maya thought the whole thing was ridiculous. Until Ethan Nguyen vaulted onto the pool deck, looking unfairly awake.

"Ready for the apocalypse, Rivera?" he grinned, dimples doing unfair things to her pulse.

"My entire life is the apocalypse," she deadpanned, trying to ignore how her stomach performed unauthorized gymnastics. "Also, you have something—"

Ethan wiped his chin self-consciously. "Spinach? From breakfast?"

"Dude, you ate spinach at 6 AM?"

"My mom says I need more iron." He shrugged, unbothered. "Worth it. That omelet was fire."

Maya's face heated. Since when did she care about Ethan's breakfast habits? Since his shoulder brushes during warmups started feeling electric. Since they'd been chemistry partners third quarter, and he'd started texting her memes after midnight. Since she'd noticed he had really nice hands.

The whistle blew. Heat 4, 200 IM. Maya dove in, water swallowing her screams.

Halfway through the butterfly, something crunched in her mouth.

Goldfish.

The snack stash in her practice bag—Cheddar flavor—had escaped. A piece floated into her mouth mid-stroke, dissolving into salty betrayal. She choked, spluttered, her rhythm shattered.

She finished dead last. Humiliation, thy name was processed cheese product.

Ethan waited at the wall, towel around his neck. "You okay? You looked like you were drowning."

"I WAS drowning." She hauled herself out, dripping mortification. "In shame."

"You weren't that bad." He paused. "Want to split my emergency snack? I've got—please don't judge me—"

"Goldfish?"

His eyes widened. "DUDE. Are you psychic?"

"I literally choked on one during my race."

Ethan lost it. He cracked up, head tilted back, laugh startlingly genuine. Maya started giggling too, helpless. The pool deck echoed with them.

"Zombie swimmers unite," he said finally, wiping his eyes. "Hey, after practice? Want to get actual breakfast? Non-spinach omelets?"

Maya's heart did something complicated. "Only if you promise not to make me swim for my life."

"Deal."

The zombie apocalypse, Maya decided, wasn't so bad after all.