Zombie Goldfish Summer

Maya's parents were forcing her to attend the neighborhood block party, which she'd been dreading all week. She stood in the corner of her driveway, clutching her iPhone like a lifeline, thumb hovering over Instagram but too anxious to actually post anything.

"You look like a zombie," her best friend Leo whispered, sliding up beside her. "Rough night?"

"Rough week," Maya muttered, watching her neighbor's golden retriever chase a frisbee across multiple lawns. "My parents promised me they'd get me therapy. Instead, they got me a therapy goldfish."

Leo laughed. "A goldfish? Seriously?"

"His name is Captain Fin. I'm supposed to talk to him about my feelings." Maya rolled her eyes. "He has a three-second memory, so I can literally tell him the same drama over and over again."

Across the yard, the popular crowd—her ex-friends from middle school—laughed at something on someone's phone. Maya's stomach twisted. Since she'd come out as queer last spring, everything had changed. Some people stopped inviting her places. Some people stopped meeting her eyes in the hallways.

"Hey," Leo said softly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she lied, then caught herself. "No. Actually, not really. I feel like everyone's watching me, waiting for me to be weird or dramatic or... whatever they think I am now."

Leo nudged her shoulder. "You're not a zombie, Maya. You're in survival mode. There's a difference."

Her mom waved from the food table. "Maya! Sweetie, try the spinach salad! It's got those berries you like!"

The entire party went quiet for exactly three seconds—Captain Fin's memory span, Maya thought bitterly—before conversations restarted. She wanted to disappear.

"Don't," Leo said, reading her mind. "Don't let them make you feel small. Spinach salad is actually good if it's done right. And if it's gross, we'll get burgers after."

"What if I'm just... not worth the trouble anymore?" she whispered, tears burning her eyes. "What if I'm too much work?"

"Then they're not your people," Leo said firmly. "Captain Fin doesn't judge you. That dog over there doesn't judge anyone. And I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

Maya watched the golden retriever tackle someone with pure, unfiltered joy. Maybe she needed more of that—less worrying about who was watching, more just... existing. She slipped her phone into her pocket and took a deep breath.

"Okay," she said. "Spinach salad. Then burgers."

"Now we're talking," Leo grinned.

The zombie feeling faded. Maybe surviving wasn't enough—maybe eventually, you actually started living again.