Zombie Goldfish Mode

The bass thrummed through my chest as I slumped on the garage couch, watching practice like I was watching someone else's life. Three days without decent sleep will turn anyone into a zombie, and I was basically undead at this point. Maya's texts still sat unread in my pocket, and every time my phone buzzed, I felt like I was drowning.

"Dude, are you even listening?" Lucas's voice cut through the haze. He pointed at the tangle of black wires behind his drum kit. "The cable's messed up again. Everything keeps cutting out."

I dragged myself over, feeling like my limbs were made of lead. Behind me, on the cluttered desk next to Lucas's dad's old fishing trophies, sat a plastic bag with water sloshing around inside. A single goldfish peered out, its orange scales catching the afternoon light through the garage window. I'd won it at the spring fair two days ago—the same day Maya decided we needed "space." The fish kept swimming in circles, not realizing its world was basically a plastic square.

"She blocked me on everything," I blurted, staring at the fish instead of Lucas. "Like, all of it. Snap, Insta, even the dumb group chat."

Lucas stopped mid-drum fill. "That's rough, man. Really rough." He paused. "But hey, at least you have..." He gestured vaguely at the bag.

"Yeah, at least I have this goldfish that's probably gonna die in three days." I laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. "Because that's exactly what I need right now. Another thing to lose."

The garage door creaked. Sophie leaned in the doorway, holding two coffees from The Bean. "Who's gonna die?"

"His fish," Lucas said. "And also his dignity."

Sophie rolled her eyes and tossed me a coffee. "First of all, that goldfish will be fine if you actually buy it a tank. Second, you can't just zombie-mode through life because some girl made a bad decision." She hopped up on the amp. "My brother's band needs a guitarist for their gig next weekend. You in?"

I looked at the goldfish swimming its endless circles. At the cable I was still holding. At Sophie, who somehow always knew when to show up.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm in."