Chlorine & Goldfish

The pool water tasted like chemicals and broken promises. Maya sat on the edge, dipping her feet in while Jenna faceted her third selfie of the night.

"You coming to Connor's party?" Jenna asked, not looking up from her phone. "It's gonna be *lowkey fire.*"

Maya kicked at the water, sending tiny waves toward the drain. "Dunno. Mom's making me take these disgusting vitamin D gummies because she thinks I'm not getting enough sun."

Jenna finally looked up, eyebrows raised. "Since when do you care what your mom thinks? We used to sneak out every weekend."

*Since you started hanging out with the popular crowd and I became your backup friend,* Maya thought but didn't say.

The silence stretched until Jenna's phone buzzed. "Actually, Alix invited me to a thing. I gotta bounce."

Maya watched her walk away, the screen door sliding shut behind her like an ending credit.

Later that night, Maya found herself at a 7-Eleven with a plastic bag containing one very confused goldfish. It had been a gag gift from the clerk—a carnival prize someone had abandoned—and somehow she'd ended up carrying it home like it was the most important thing in the world.

She set the bag on her desk and watched the fish swim in tiny circles, trapped in too-small space, going nowhere fast. The metaphor hit her so hard she actually laughed out loud.

Her phone lit up: Jenna posted a photo with her new friends, all golden skin and perfect teeth, captioned "squad goals."

Maya texted back: "have fun"

Then she grabbed her bike and rode to the park pond at midnight, her bare feet cold against the pedals. The goldfish deserved better than a plastic bag on a desk next to discarded vitamin gummies and old friendship bracelets.

She released it into the murky water, watching it swim away into the dark, toward something bigger.

"Go be free, little dude," she whispered. "Find your actual squad."

The next morning, Jenna's story showed her puking behind a dumpster while her new friends laughed. Maya unfollowed her, then grabbed an actual glass of water and her sketchbook. Some friendships were like goldfish in bags—they only lasted as long as you kept pretending you were somewhere you weren't.

Time to find her own pond.