Goldfish at the Finish Line

Maya's legs burned as she rounded the corner, her breath hitching in that way it always did when she was running from something she couldn't name. The track meet ended hours ago, but here she was, still running. Past the high school, past the 7-Eleven where Tyler worked, past her own house.

"You need to slow down," her mom had said that morning, pressing a handful of vitamin supplements into her palm. "You're seventeen, Maya, not a machine."

She'd shoved them in her pocket without looking.

Now she stood in front of Jordan's house, heart hammering against her ribs. Jordan. The girl who'd spent third period passing her notes with goldfish drawn in the margins — little caricatures with speech bubbles saying weirdly specific things like "your laugh sounds like sunshine" and "why do you always wear that green hoodie?"

Maya had written back: "are you flirting with me??" with three question marks, because she wasn't brave enough to use just one.

Jordan's response: "maybe I am. what are you gonna do about it?"

The front door opened.

Maya froze. Jordan stood there wearing mismatched socks and that oversized band tee, holding a glass bowl with a single goldfish swimming lazy circles.

"I won him at the carnival," Jordan said by way of greeting. "His name is Toast."

"Toast?"

"Because he's slightly burnt." Jordan held the bowl toward Maya. "Wanna come in? We can watch terrible movies and make fun of them."

Maya thought about her mom worrying about vitamin deficiencies. About her coach telling her she needed to be faster. About the way she'd been running in circles for months, terrified to stop and figure out what she actually wanted.

"Yeah," Maya said, and it came out easier than breathing. "Yeah, I'd love that."

Jordan grinned. "Good. Also, you left your hoodie in chem yesterday. It's been waiting for you."

Inside, Toast the goldfish swam in his new home on Jordan's desk, and Maya stopped running. She finally let herself catch her breath.