Zombie Goldfish Summer

My hair was doing that weird flip thing again — the kind that happens when you crash at 2 AM with wet hair and wake up looking like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket. Of course this had to happen on the day of baseball tryouts.

"You look like a zombie," Chloe said, cracking up as she applied vanilla lip gloss in the locker room mirror. "No offense."

"None taken," I muttered, attempting to flatten my hair with zero success. "I literally feel like one. Mr. Harrison's physics test was a nightmare. I think my brain actually dissolved somewhere between question three and four."

The bull of the school, Derek Thompson, shoved past us, shoulder-checking me hard enough that I stumbled into the lockers. "Watch it, losers."

Chloe rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "He's been bullying everyone since sixth grade. When does it stop?"

"When someone finally stands up to him," I said quietly, even though we both knew that wouldn't be me. Not today. Today was about surviving baseball tryouts without completely embarrassing myself in front of the entire sophomore class.

But my mind kept drifting to poor Fin. My goldfish of three years had gone belly-up that morning, floating at the top of his bowl like a tiny orange zombie fish who'd given up on swimming. My mom had already flushed him — RIP Fin, 2021-2024 — but I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd forgotten to feed him twice this week. How I'd been too busy with AP Bio, with trying out for the team, with obsessing over whether Jake from English class would notice my new sneakers.

Was this what growing up felt like? Too many things to care about, not enough time to care properly about any of them? Fin's plastic castle had looked so empty without him.

"You okay?" Chloe asked, reading my face like she always did. "You've been staring at your locker for like, a solid minute."

"Fin died," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled me into a hug that smelled like coconut shampoo and stress-induced panic. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. That genuinely sucks."

"It's just a fish," I said, but my voice cracked on the last word.

"No, it's not just a fish. It's YOUR fish. You loved that little guy." She grabbed my hand. "Listen to me. We're going to nail tryouts, then we're getting boba, and we're having a proper funeral for Fin. I'm talking flowers, speeches, the whole deal. He deserves it."

I laughed through the lump in my throat, surprised at how much better I felt. Outside, the sun blazed across the baseball diamond. My hair was still a disaster. I was exhausted. Derek was probably going to make some comment about how girls couldn't play.

But Chloe's hand was warm in mine, and for the first time all day, I didn't feel like a zombie at all. I felt like someone who could handle this — the tryouts, the bully, the missing goldfish. All of it.

"You're right," I said. "Let's do this. For Fin."