The Goldfish's 3 AM Rescue

I'm operating on zombie level—like, actual undead status. Three hours of sleep will do that to you. Between AP History overload, track practice until dark, and my mom's new obsession with me becoming 'well-rounded,' I'm barely functioning. Enter Neptune. He's my goldfish—well, technically my sister's, but she's away at college and I'm stuck with fish-sitting duty.

It's 3 AM and I'm running on empty, literally and figuratively. I stagger into the kitchen for water and spot Neptune floating sideways at the top of his bowl.

'Nope, not today,' I mutter, suddenly wide awake.

I call my best friend Maya, because obviously this is a 3 AM emergency. She picks up on the second ring.

'Did you die?' she asks. 'Because you sound like you died.'

'Neptune's dying! What do I do for a dying goldfish?'

Maya's silence says everything. 'You called me for fish CPR? At 3 AM? You're officially running on crazy.'

'I'm not letting him go out like this! He's been through so much!' (He hasn't. He's lived in a bowl for two years.)

Long story short: I performed mouth-to-mouth on a goldfish. My friends at school would never let me live this down. But something about frantically trying to save this tiny, ridiculous life snapped me out of zombie mode. Like, I was FEELING something again, even if that something was 'why am I giving fish mouth-to-mouth at 3 AM'

Neptune survived. I made it to track practice, still exhausted but weirdly energized. Coach Anderson took one look at me and said, 'You look like hell, Martinez—good, that's how champions feel.'

I PR'd in the 400 that day.

Sometimes you gotta hit zombie level, run on nothing but desperation and caffeine, and accidentally save a goldfish to remember what being alive actually feels like. Also, never tell anyone you gave fish CPR. That stays between us.