The Zombie's Goldfish

Mateo shuffled into third period like a zombie, which honestly wasn't far from the truth. Three hours of sleep. Five consecutive days. His AP Euro teacher droned on about some war, and Mateo's brain felt like it was floating in murky water somewhere else entirely.

"You good, man?" Marcus whispered, leaning in from the desk beside him. "You look dead."

"Living my best life," Mateo shot back, but it came out flat. The truth was, he'd been spending every night FaceTiming Maya until 2 AM, talking about everything and nothing while his goldfish—stupid carnival prize from last summer—swam in endless circles on his desk. They'd been talking for months, but he still hadn't made a move. Paralyzed by the possibility of ruining everything.

That afternoon, he found himself at the baseball diamond behind school. The varsity team was practicing, and Maya was there, sitting in the bleachers with her friends. His stomach did that annoying thing where it forgot how to function.

She waved him over. "Hey! Watch this—Ethan thinks he's gonna get drafted."

Mateo sat beside her, hyper-aware of his knee accidentally touching hers. The baseball cracked against a bat. Someone shouted. Water bottles scattered across the bench.

"So," Maya said, turning toward him, her eyes doing that thing where they got all intense. "My friends keep asking what's going on with us."

His heart hammered. The zombie feeling evaporated, replaced by something electric. "What did you tell them?"

She smirked. "That I'm waiting for you to figure it out."

A baseball sailed over the fence, landing in the creek beyond the field. Without thinking, Mateo stood up. "Bet I can get it first."

Maya laughed. "You're on, loser."

They sprinted toward the water, and suddenly Mateo wasn't tired anymore. Whatever happened next—whether she'd laugh at him or kiss him or everything would get weird—he'd deal with it. He was done being a goldfish, swimming in circles, waiting for something to change.

Sometimes you had to jump in the water yourself.