Three Seconds of Gold

Maya felt like a **zombie** walking through seventh period, her brain fried from three hours of sleep—the usual consequence of binge-watching until 3 AM. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Probably **friend** group chat blowing up about Jordan's party tonight. The one she'd bail on again.

"Earth to Hansen." Mr. Reeves droned on about something Colonial. Maya's eyelids drooped.

**Cable** snaked across her bedroom floor that morning, a tripping hazard of wires connecting her dad's old gaming setup. He'd promised they'd fix the router this weekend. They'd been promising that since she moved in freshman year.

Her backpack weighed heavy with secrets: a crumpled permission slip she'd "forget" to show her mom, the failing physics test hidden between notebook pages. The usual.

"Your turn to feed him," her stepbrother called as she trudged through the door. He was already halfway out, basketball jersey on, headed to Cody's house. Typical Tyler—always ditching.

**Goldfish** drifted in its bowl, orange fins swishing lazily. Bubbles rose to the surface. Pop. Pop. Pop. It was their mom's before, some weird tradition thing. Tyler and Maya both avoided naming it, like that would change what happened next. What always happened.

The fish stared at her with those blank, glassy eyes. She sprinkled flakes. It ate greedily, like it wasn't basically already on borrowed time.

Her phone lit up. Jordan: "u coming or what"

She stared at the letters. Outside, the fence rattled. Their neighbors' **bull** calf had escaped again, probably. She could hear it snorting, hooves thudding against the wood. The beast had been getting bolder lately, testing boundaries.

Kind of like how she felt.

Maya typed: "idk maybe later"

Then deleted it.

Typed: "stuck at home"

Sent.

**Zombie** mode reactivated as she flopped onto her bed. Upstairs, something shattered. Her stepdad yelling about the WiFi. About anything he could yell about really.

She watched the **goldfish** swim circles in its tiny kingdom. Three seconds, they said. That's how long a goldfish's memory span was. Three seconds and everything was new again.

Three seconds and you forgot who hurt you. Three seconds and you forgot what you lost. Three seconds and you could start over.

"Must be nice," she whispered.

Outside, the **bull** broke through the fence with a thunderous crack. And somehow, suddenly, Maya was outside in her socks, watching the creature stare back at her—wild eyes, steam from its nostrils hanging in the cool evening air.

It could have charged. Instead, it stood there, like it was waiting for her to make the first move.

Behind her, through the window, she could hear her stepdad still yelling about the **cable**. About how nothing in this house worked right. About how nobody respected anything.

Maya took a step forward. Then another.

"Hey," she said softly. "Hey, buddy."

The **bull** snorted, lowered its head. Not angry. Just tired. Just like her.

She reached out, palm open. Something shifted between them—something like understanding, maybe. Or maybe just two creatures stuck in places they didn't choose, finding a way to exist there anyway.

Inside, her phone buzzed again. Jordan. Her **friend** group. The life she kept almost touching but never quite grabbed.

Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she'd text back. Tomorrow she'd show up.

But not tonight. Tonight belonged to her and this **bull** and the fading light and the quiet understanding that sometimes, you didn't need to be brave. You just needed to stand your ground.

The **goldfish** swam another circle, already forgetting everything. And maybe, Maya thought, that wasn't so bad after all.