Three AM Truth Sessions

Maya lay in bed at 2:47 AM, eyes burning, feeling like a zombie after four straight nights of TikTok doomscrolling and AP Euro panic-studying. Her phone battery hung at 12%, but she couldn't stop.

"You still awake?" popped up on screen — Quinn, the boy who sat behind her in pre-calc, who'd somehow become her 3 AM anxiety twin.

"Always," she typed back. "You?"

"Parents are fighting again. I'm downstairs. Cable's out, so I'm just staring at the wall like a loser."

Maya's chest tightened. Quinn's parents had been divorced since eighth grade, but still found new ways to wreck him.

"Want to call?" she offered. "Data still works."

"Yeah. Please."

His voice came through rough, like he'd been crying or not sleeping. "You know what's funny? My dad got me this stupid goldfish last month, said it'd 'teach responsibility.' It died three days ago and I haven't even told him. Just flushed it and bought another one from PetSmart. He literally can't tell the difference."

Maya laughed softly. "That's both messed up and kinda brilliant."

"What about you? What's keeping Maya Chen up at 2 AM on a Tuesday?"

She hesitated. The truth felt too heavy, but somehow Quinn's goldfish confession made it safe. "I think I'm flunking out. Like, actually failing. And I can't tell my parents. They'd literally have a heart attack."

Silence stretched between them, electric and charged.

"That's bull, Maya," he said finally. "You're not failing. You're overwhelmed. There's a difference."

"Is there? Because my gradebook says otherwise."

"Okay, so maybe you ARE failing. So what?" His voice gained momentum. "You're not your grades. You're the person who stayed up with me when my parents were being assholes. You're the person who noticed my goldfish got replaced, even though my own dad didn't. That's what actually matters."

Maya felt tears prick her eyes. Nobody had ever said anything like that to her before.

"We're all just zombies, you know?" Quinn continued. "Walking through school half-alive, pretending everything's fine. But at least we're zombies together."

She smiled, really smiled, for the first time in weeks. "Zombies together. I like that."

"Get some sleep, Maya. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."

"You too, Quinn. And hey — maybe get your dad a cactus this time. Way harder to kill."

His laugh was the best sound she'd heard all year. At 3:14 AM, she finally put down her phone and slept.