Electric Goldfish Summer

The papaya sat on the counter like an alien artifact. My mom bought it because she's going through her 'exotic fruit phase' which means everyone else has to suffer.

'Try it, Maya,' she said, slicing into the pink-orange flesh. 'It's good for you.'

I poked at it. The texture looked like what would happen if a fish had a baby with a melon. 'I'll pass.'

'Your brother ate it.'

'Marcus is eleven. He still eats boogers sometimes. That's not the bar you think it is.'

The social pyramid at Lincoln High had shifted over summer. I used to be solidly in the middle – not popular enough to sit at the good tables during lunch, not weird enough to get shoved in lockers. Now? Unknown territory. Freshman year had recalibrated everything. People who'd been losers last year emerged with new jawlines and different clothes. The rules had changed and nobody had sent me the memo.

My phone buzzed. Group chat blowing up about Jenna's party Friday. Everyone was going. Probably. Maybe. Unless they weren't. The ambiguity of sophomore year was exhausting.

I escaped to the backyard where our dog, Barnaby – a chaotic golden retriever mix who'd been a 'temporary foster' for three years now – was barking at nothing as usual.

'What is it, buddy?' I sighed, sinking into the grass. 'You see something?'

He stopped barking and stared at me with those dopey eyes that had somehow convinced my parents he was worth keeping. I'd found him as a stray during the worst thunderstorm of my life three years ago. He'd been shivering under a bus stop bench, this pathetic matted creature, and I'd walked home in the rain carrying him because what was I supposed to do, leave him there?

That was the same night my goldfish, Neptune, died. I'd won him at a carnival – you know, the ones where everyone knows the fish are basically doomed from the start. He'd lasted two weeks. I'd given him a Viking funeral in our kitchen sink (my mom was NOT pleased) and then found Barnaby on the walk home. Loss and gain in the same night. The universe balances its checkbooks in mysterious ways.

Lightning cracked across the sky – close enough that Barnaby actually flinched. The air had that thick, electric quality that makes your skin feel too tight, like something's about to happen. A storm was rolling in, finally breaking the humidity that had made everything feel sticky and gross all week.

I watched the clouds gathering, purple and swollen, and thought about how much things had changed since that other storm. Three years ago, I was just some kid who'd just failed at keeping a goldfish alive. Now I was halfway through high school, still figuring out who I was, still worrying about whether Jenna would even notice if I showed up at her party or if I'd just stand in the corner holding a red solo cup like some kind of decorative prop.

Barnaby shoved his wet nose against my hand. The rain started – huge warm drops that smelled like ozone and pavement. I didn't run inside. Just let it soak through my shirt, thinking how Neptune would've hated the rain. He'd been a freshwater kind of guy.

'You know what?' I said to the dog. 'I think I'll try the papaya.'

He thumped his tail, missing the point entirely. That was okay. Some things don't need translating. The lightning flashed again, and for once, I didn't flinch.