Everything That's Real

Maya pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her iPhone screen, watching the party unfold through stories and posts she wasn't in. She felt like a zombie going through the motions—smiling, nodding, ghosting through conversations that meant nothing. Three hours trapped in this house and her best friend hadn't looked up from her phone once.

"You okay?"

Maya jumped. Leo—quiet, weird Leo who sat behind her in pre-calc—was leaning against the back porch railing, actually looking at her. Like, seeing her.

"Just needed air," she said. "You?"

"Same." He held up his own phone, screen cracked down the middle. "Everyone's so performative here. It's exhausting."

Something cracked open in her chest. "Yeah. My supposed best friend has posted twelve selfies since we arrived and hasn't said one actual word to me."

Leo pulled a small orange fishbowl from behind his back. A tiny goldfish darted inside, its scales catching the porch light. "This is Clementine. She's more real than anyone in there."

Maya laughed—not fake laugh, real laugh. "You brought a goldfish to a party?"

"My mom made me come. Clementine gets separation anxiety." His orange hair glowed under the porch light. "Wanted to see if you were okay. You looked... I don't know. Like you needed someone to see you."

The party noise faded to wallpaper. For the first time all night, Maya didn't feel like performing.

"I did," she said. "Thanks for noticing."

He handed her the fishbowl. "Want to hold her? She likes people who are tired of pretending."

Maya cradled the cool glass, watching tiny bubbles rise. Clementine swam close, her orange eye watching back. And there, on a stranger's back porch, holding someone's goldfish while her iPhone buzzed with notifications she'd ignore forever, Maya finally felt like she could breathe.