Three AM Goldfish

The goldfish stared at me through the glass bowl, its mouth opening and closing like it was trying to say something profound. Probably something about how I should be asleep instead of having an existential crisis at 3 AM.

"You're literally talking to a fish now," Maya's voice echoed in my head. My former best friend, who'd ghosted me two weeks ago when the popular crowd finally accepted her into their orbit. The same Maya who used to help me dye my hair ridiculous colors in her bathroom during sleepovers, laughing when we messed up and ended up with patches of neon green.

Now she was too cool for that. Too cool for me.

I looked in the mirror. My hair was a mess—there was still a streak of blue behind my ear from the last time we'd hung out, a reminder I couldn't bring myself to wash out. Pathetic, right? Holding onto hair dye like it was some kind of emotional tether.

Mom knocked on my door, opening it before I could answer. She looked like a zombie, which honestly made sense considering she'd worked a double shift at the hospital. "Honey, you're still up? You have that math test tomorrow."

"I know, I know. I'm studying," I lied.

She frowned, too tired to call me on it. "Don't stay up too late. You look dead already." She closed the door, leaving me alone with my betrayal and a very judgmental goldfish.

My phone buzzed. A text from Maya: *hey sorry I've been weird. can we talk?*

I stared at it, my heart doing this annoying fluttery thing. She'd been treating me like I was invisible for weeks, ignoring me in the hallways like I was some kind of social leprosy carrier, and now she wanted to talk?

The goldfish swam to the top of its bowl, like it was waiting for food.

"You want me to forgive her?" I whispered. The fish said nothing, because it was a fish.

But I knew what I had to do. Some friendships were like goldfish memory—short, easily forgotten, constantly reinventing themselves. And others? Others were worth fighting for, even when they got messy and complicated and left you with blue hair that you couldn't quite let go of.

I texted back: *coffee after school? my treat.*

Because sometimes growing up meant realizing that people could be both the ones who hurt you and the ones who helped you heal. Even if they made you want to scream sometimes.

Even if they turned you into a zombie who talked to fish at 3 AM.