Zombie at the Deep End

Mateo stood at the edge of Maya's pool party feeling like a straight-up **zombie**. Three hours of sleep and social anxiety would do that to you. The cowboy **hat** perched on his head—lost bet, obviously—felt like a beacon of awkwardness. Everyone was either in the pool or flirting near the snacks, and there he was, internally screaming.

The real problem wasn't the FOMO though. It was the **goldfish** situation. His little sister's fish, Fin (she was seven, cut her some slack), had started floating sideways that morning. Now Mateo was spiraling: Was it old age? Did he overfeed it yesterday? What if it died while he was at this party? The cosmic timing felt personal.

"You look like you're mentally **swimming** through Jell-O."

Mateo jumped. Chloe—actual Chloe, who sat behind him in chem and had that hair that somehow always looked good—was suddenly beside him. She had this mini cooler slung over her shoulder, like she'd come prepared.

"Solid description," he said, internally wincing. Smooth.

"My fish died last week," she said, apropos of nothing. "Beta fish. Named him Picasso because he had funky colors. I cried for two hours and then my mom bought me pizza and told me fish have three-second memories anyway, which probably means he lived his best life constantly surprised by his own castle."

Mateo snorted. "That's weirdly comforting."

"Right?" She nudged his shoulder with hers. "So what's your deal? You look like you're carrying the weight of the world in that cowboy hat."

So he told her. About Fin. About the floating. About the guilt. And Chloe—Chloe who he'd never actually talked to before—nodded like this was normal conversation. Like his goldfish existential crisis was valid.

Then the sky cracked. **Lightning** spiderwebbed across the darkening clouds, illuminating everything in this surreal flash. Someone squealed. Thunder rumbled like the universe was clearing its throat.

"Pool's closing," Maya announced, but she was grinning. "Everyone inside, pizza's arriving."

Chloe looked at Mateo, really looked at him. "You should text your sister. Check on Fin. If he's still floating sideways, we can Google fish hospice care together. I mean, probably not actually a thing, but—"

"I'd appreciate that," Mateo said, and he meant it.

The zombie feeling dissolved. The hat didn't feel stupid anymore—well, okay, it still felt stupid, but in a way that was kind of hilarious. As everyone streamed toward the house, leaving wet footprints on the concrete, Mateo realized something: sometimes the worst moments, the ones where you feel completely out of place, are exactly where you find your people.

Even if it takes a floating fish and a thunderstorm to get there.