Goldfish and Glitter Gel

Maya felt like a literal **goldfish** in a bowl at Jason's party—swimming in the same circles, invisible, with everyone watching her but no one actually seeing her. She'd spent forty-five minutes pretending to be deeply fascinated by a standalone lamp while her friends dominated the kitchen like they owned it.

"You're doing that thing again," Leo whispered, appearing beside her with two Solo cups. "The watching-instead-of-living thing. You're missing your own life, Maya."

Leo. The absolute worst. He'd been her neighbor since they were seven, which somehow gave him permission to be annoyingly observant about everything. His hair was doing that swooshy thing that made him look like he'd just rolled out of bed, which was exactly the kind of effortless vibe Maya had been trying to cultivate since freshman year.

"I'm not missing anything," she snapped. "I'm being intentional. There's a difference."

"Intentional about holding up the wall? Cool strategy. Very growth mindset of you." His grin was all teeth and trouble, like a **fox** who'd already raided the chicken coop and was now just hanging around to judge everyone else's technique.

Maya's phone buzzed. Her ride was bailing.

"You've got to be kidding me." She stared at the screen. "My sister's 'too tired' to pick me up. At eleven PM. I'm literally three miles from home."

Leo's face did something complicated. "I can give you a ride. If you want. My car's that beat-up Honda out front. No kidnapping, I promise."

She almost said no. Almost kept performing her role as the girl who waited for things to happen to her. But something in her chest shifted—maybe it was the way Leo was actually looking at her, not through her, like he'd been doing all night.

"Okay," Maya said, and it felt like jumping off a cliff into water she couldn't see.

In his car, with the windows down and summer air rushing in, Leo reached across the console and opened his **palm**. "Put your hand here. I'm teaching you something."

"What?"

"Trust issues. We're working on them. Put your hand in mine."

Maya hesitated, then placed her hand against his. His fingers curled around hers, warm and sure, and suddenly she wasn't a goldfish anymore. She wasn't swimming in circles. She was climbing out of the bowl, finally, finally breathing air that tasted like possibility and cheap cologne and the kind of bravery she'd been faking for years.

"See?" Leo said, glancing over. "Not so scary."

"Shut up and drive, fox," she whispered, and for the first time since elementary school, Maya didn't look away.