Carpool Confessions

Maya's palms were sweating against her iPhone case as she slid into the backseat of her mom's sedan. Friday night. The carpool ride to Jamie's party felt like the longest seven minutes of her life.

"So, Maya," her mom's friend Mrs. Chen chirped from the front seat, "How's school? Still got that aquarium hobby?"

Maya groaned internally. Her phone buzzed with a text from Sophia: *r u coming??? ppl r asking 4 u*

"Yeah, still... into fish," Maya mumbled, thumb hovering over her screen. The goldfish incident last summer had somehow become her entire personality at school. She'd won a prize goldfish at the county fair, named him Neptune, then accidentally gave him a royal burial in the school pond during what was supposed to be a quick release ceremony. Someone filmed it. It went viral. Now she was "Fish Girl" forever.

The carpool dropped her off at Jamie's driveway. Maya's phone was already blowing up. Instagram stories showed the pool glowing with floating LED lights, people in sunglasses at 9 PM, someone doing a cannonball off the roof—okay, that one was probably fake.

She stepped through the sliding glass door and immediately felt like she was holding her breath underwater. Everyone was already in their groups, laughing like they'd known each other for centuries. Maya made a beeline for the bathroom, phone in hand, ready to spend the whole party scrolling and pretending to be busy.

Then she saw it.

On the kitchen counter, in a glass bowl that definitely wasn't big enough, a single goldfish swam in tiny, frantic circles.

"Oh my god, Fish Girl is obsessed with your pet, Jamie," someone called out. Laughter rippled through the room.

Maya's face burned. But then Jamie appeared beside her. "Actually, I was hoping you'd notice. My little sister won him at the fair yesterday, and I have NO idea what I'm doing. He keeps floating sideways."

Maya looked at the fish—a calico telescope-eye with fins like flowing silk. She looked at her phone, then back at him.

"First off," Maya said, her voice steadying, "he needs a bigger tank. And conditioned water. And these flakes are basically junk food." She set her iPhone on the counter—face down, screen black—for the first time all night.

"Wait, really?" Jamie's eyes widened. "Can you help me fix it?"

"Yeah," Maya said, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "Yeah, I can absolutely help."

By 11 PM, she and Jamie had transferred the fish into a proper container with dechlorinated water. By midnight, they were sitting on the pool deck, feet dangling in the water, watching the goldfish—now named Galaxy—swim contentedly in his new home.

Maya's phone stayed in her pocket, buzzing with ignored notifications. For the first time since forever, Fish Girl didn't care who was watching.