Goldfish and Orange Peels

Maya clutched the orange in her pocket, her thumb tracing its waxy skin like a worry stone. Outside Kyle's house, bass thudded through the walls—another party she'd barely been invited to, somehow on the fringe of everything, always.

"You coming in or what?" Jordan rolled his eyes from the doorway.

"Yeah. Just... yeah."

She peeled the orange in the kitchen, needing something to do with her hands. Citrus spray misted the air, sharp and real, unlike the sticky sweet perfume and cheap cologne everywhere else. That's when she saw the goldfish—just a single beta in a murky bowl on the counter, its long fins trailing like a dress in water.

"That's Fisher," someone said behind her. "Won at carnival, wouldn't die."

Maya turned. It was Riley, the quiet girl from AP Bio, holding a red cup like she didn't know what to do with it. "He looks lonely."

"He's a fish."

"Still." Maya dropped a piece of orange peel into the bowl. The fish nosed it, curious.

They stood there awkwardly until something crashed in the living room. A Golden retriever—someone had brought a dog to a party, apparently—bounded in, nails clicking on linoleum, tail knocking against Fisher's bowl. Water sloshed onto the floor.

"Bandit!" Riley grabbed the dog's collar. "Sorry, my brother's..."

"It's fine." Maya grabbed paper towels, dropping to her knees. The fish swam in widening circles. "Fisher's fine. Right, buddy?"

Riley laughed, and it wasn't mean or performative—just actual laughter. "You named him Fisher?"

"No! I mean—" Maya felt her face burn. "That's what the other person said his name was."

"I know. I'm messing with you." Riley sat cross-legged on the floor, still holding Bandit's collar. The dog flopped over, exposing his belly. "He's actually named Kevin."

"Kevin the fish."

"Kevin the incredibly resilient fish. My brother's won him like, six months ago? We thought he'd last two weeks. But Kevin's a survivor."

"Like us." The words slipped out before Maya could stop them.

Riley looked at her, really looked at her, and something shifted. "Yeah. Like us."

They sat on the kitchen floor for twenty minutes while the party roared in the next room, feeding orange pulp to Kevin and letting Bandit lick their fingers clean. Maya's orange-sticky hands didn't matter. The weird orange hoodie she'd almost changed out of three times didn't matter. She was exactly where she was supposed to be.

"Hey," Riley said as Maya finally stood up to leave. "You're in AP Bio too, right?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna sit together at lunch Monday? I usually sit with Jordan and them, but... I'd rather not."

Maya walked home with orange peel under her fingernails and Riley's number in her phone. Somewhere, Kevin the fish swam in clean water. Somewhere, a dog dreamed. And Maya wasn't on the fringe anymore. She was right in the middle of everything beginning.