Goldfish at the Finish Line

Maya's palms were sweating. Again. She wiped them on her track shorts, leaving dark streaks that betrayed her nerves. Everyone else looked so calm before the 400-meter dash—stretching, laughing, existing like normal human beings while she felt like a walking anxiety attack.

"You got this, Maya!" Jake called from the sidelines, flashing that smile that made her stomach do cartwheels. He held up his phone, streaming the meet like he did every Friday. Her personal livestream guy. She'd had a crush on him since seventh grade, when he'd let her copy his math homework and pretended not to notice she'd messed up half the answers.

At the starting line, Maya's mind raced faster than her legs ever could. What if she tripped? What if she came in last? What if she threw up like that time in P.E.? The gun went off, and she launched forward, everything blurring except the track beneath her feet. Her lungs burned, her legs screamed, but she kept pushing, imagining the goldfish she'd won at the spring carnival—a tiny, shimmering thing swimming in endless circles in its bowl on her nightstand. That fish had more freedom than she felt sometimes.

"Almost there!" Jake's voice cut through the fog. "You're killing it!"

Maya crossed the finish line and collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving. Everything hurt, but in that good way, like she'd finally outrun the thoughts that wouldn't shut up. Jake appeared above her, offering a hand and a water bottle.

"Third place," he said, grinning as she sat up. "Plus, I got it all on video. You looked like you were actually running FROM something."

She laughed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "Maybe I was."

"Worth it?" He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

Maya looked at him, really looked at him, and realized her sweaty palms were the last thing on her mind. "Yeah. Actually, yeah it was."

"Good." Jake smiled. "Because I was thinking... maybe next time, you could teach me how to not finish last. I suck at running."

Her heart did that cartwheel thing again. "I could do that."

"Cool." He stood up, offering his hand again. "Come on. I'll buy you a post-race snack. My treat."

Maya took his hand, palm against palm, and let him pull her up. Somewhere in her room, a goldfish swam in circles. But Maya? She was finally moving forward.