The Goldfish Whisperer

Maya dragged herself through third period feeling like a straight-up **zombie**. Three hours of sleep because her neighbor decided 2 AM was prime time for a mariachi band session would do that to you. Her phone buzzed in her pocket — probably her group chat blowing up about the history project due Friday.

"You good?" whispered Jasmine, sliding into the seat beside her. "You look deceased."

"Living my best afterlife," Maya muttered, dropping her head onto her desk. The classroom lights hummed, aggressive and fluorescent.

At lunch, Maya sat in her usual spot near the back, unpacking the Tupperware her mom had packed. Sliced **papaya** with chili powder and lime — her Abuela's recipe, the one that always made kids stare like she was eating alien food freshman year. Now nobody cared, which was somehow worse than the staring.

"The project," said Leo, appearing out of nowhere with his tablet. "We need to finish the social hierarchy **pyramid** for Mr. Chen's class or we're actually cooked."

Maya's stomach dropped. She'd barely started her part. The truth was, she'd been avoiding their group study sessions because being around Leo and Jasmine and their effortless confidence made her feel small. Not like they were mean — they weren't. They just *were*, comfortably, in a way Maya couldn't figure out how to be.

"My house?" Jasmine suggested. "My parents got that huge fish tank installed. We can study while watching the **goldfish** literally do nothing. It's lowkey mesmerizing."

So that's how Maya ended up on Jasmine's velvet couch at 4 PM, surrounded by snacks and anxiety. The goldfish — a massive orange fantail named Gerald — stared at them through the glass with what looked like judgment.

"Okay," Maya said, her voice barely there. "I haven't been totally honest." She set down her papaya, suddenly unable to look at her friends. "I didn't do my part because I feel like I don't belong in this group. You guys are so... together. And I'm just... here."

Silence. Gerald the goldfish opened and closed his mouth, slow and deliberate.

"Maya," Jasmine said softly. "Girl. You think I'm 'together'? I cried in the bathroom yesterday because I couldn't find my other AirPod."

"I'm failing math," Leo admitted. "Like, actually failing. My parents are gonna lose it."

They looked at her, waiting. And suddenly Maya saw it — the cracks in everything she thought was perfect. Nobody had it figured out. Everybody was faking it, just like her, just in different ways.

"Wait," she said. "Seriously?"

"Bro, nobody's okay," Leo laughed. "We're all just pretending."

Gerald swam to the front of the tank and stared directly at Maya, and she could've sworn the fish knew something she didn't.

"Okay," Maya said, picking up her papaya. "Okay. Let's do this pyramid thing."

They worked until the sun went down, eating fruit and laughing so hard Jasmine's mom came in twice to tell them to chill. For the first time all year, Maya didn't feel like a zombie going through the motions. She felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.