Friday Night at Pet World

I felt like a straight-up zombie working the Friday night shift at Pet World. Three hours of sleep, two exams, and way too much time overthinking Maya's text from yesterday—or three days ago. Whatever.

"You good, bro?" Jay asked, sliding behind the counter with his signature half-smile. My best friend since third grade, the guy who'd seen me through the braces phase and that haircut I don't talk about.

"Never better," I lied, leaning against the counter. "Just living the dream. Minimum wage, fluorescent lighting, the whole package."

Jay snorted. "At least you're not stuck cleaning fish tanks again."

Speak too soon, universe. My phone buzzed—Maya. Finally. My heart did that stupid flutter thing it always did when her name popped up. Meanwhile, a ginger cat hopped onto the counter, tail flicking with major attitude. This happened every Friday. Mrs. Henderson's cat, Marshmallow, had officially adopted us.

"Bro, your cat is judging me," I said, scratching behind its ears. It purred anyway. Traitor.

"Not my cat. But lowkey, Marshmallow gets you." Jay checked his phone. "Speaking of judging—zombie face alert."

The bell above the door jingled. Maya walked in, looking like she'd just stepped out of a Pinterest board. My stomach dropped straight to my sneakers.

"Hey!" She waved, heading toward us. "Working hard or hardly working?"

"Definitely hardly working," I said, trying to sound chill and failing. "What's up?"

"Goldfish emergency," she said, all serious. "My little sister won hers at the carnival, and Mom said if it dies, I'm responsible for the emotional damage."

Jay raised both eyebrows. I felt my face heating up.

"I can help," I said, maybe too quickly. "Fish guy expertise."

Marshmallow chose that moment to knock over a display of squeaky toys. Chaos ensued—me scrambling to save squeaky bones, Maya laughing, Jay recording it on his phone like the traitor he was. And somewhere in that mess of fur, plastic toys, and Maya's laugh, I forgot about being a zombie.

Later, we stood by the goldfish tanks, three bagged fish in hand. She'd actually come by herself. No squad, no buffer.

"Thanks," she said, smiling that smile that made my brain short-circuit. "For the fish. And the entertainment."

"Anytime," I managed. "Seriously."

"Text you later?" she asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Please."

Jay waited until she was gone to destroy me with questions. Marshmallow watched from the counter, smug. And I might have been exhausted, but for the first time all week, I didn't feel dead at all.