Goldfish at the Deep End

The goldfish was definitely dead. That was the first thought that crossed Maya's mind when she walked into Kylie's backyard party and saw a tiny orange fish floating at the top of the pool.

"Goldfish funeral at three," Kylie announced dramatically, posing for a selfie with her sisters. "Someone's dad needs to buy a replacement before Mom gets home from her business trip."

Maya smoothed down her frizzy hair, wishing she'd just stayed home and binge-watched Netflix instead of coming to the party of the century. The humidity was wreaking absolute havoc on her fresh blowout, and every time she caught her reflection in the sliding glass door, she wanted to evaporate.

Then Buster happened.

Kylie's golden retriever, clearly under-stimulated and over-caffeinated on dropped party snacks, spotted Maya as the only person not holding a red plastic cup or phone. Before she could react, a wet tongue assaulted her face and muddy paws smeared her white dress.

"BUSTER! NO!" Kylie shrieked, but it was too late. Maya was covered in drool and grass stains, and her carefully styled hair now looked like she'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. She was running toward the gate when someone grabbed her arm.

"Wait," said Tyler, the quiet swimmer from her English class. "I've got an idea."

Five minutes later, Maya was borrowing one of Kylie's brother's oversized swim shirts and learning that Tyler's grandmother was a hair stylist who'd taught him how to fix frizz with just conditioner and braiding. By the time the goldfish was ceremonially flushed (replacement already acquired from the pet store down the street), Maya was laughing with Tyler about how her hair now looked like accidental beach waves instead of a disaster.

"Actually kind of digs it," Tyler said, and Maya's stomach did that thing where it forgot how to be an organ.

The goldfish might have been a tragedy, but the dog and the ruined hair were exactly the chaos Maya needed to stop overthinking and actually talk to someone. Plus, Tyler's text later that night — "still got those beach waves?" — was way better than any perfectly Instagrammable party moment.