Goldfish at the Party

The papaya sat on the kitchen counter like some exotic alien artifact, totally out of place among the pizza boxes and red Solo cups. I'd been staring at it for ten minutes, mostly because it was easier than making actual conversation with anyone at Jake's party.

"You gonna eat that, or just psychoanalyze it?"

I jumped. Fox—that's what everyone called Maya, with her copper hair and suspicious eyes—leaned against the doorway, unapologetically holding my favorite stolen hoodie. The one I'd been looking for since Wednesday.

"It's papaya," I said, like that explained everything. "Who even buys papaya for a house party?"

"Jake's mom, apparently." She grabbed a slice, took a bite, and made this face like she'd just bitten into a lemon. "Okay, valid. Absolutely vile choice."

We ended up on the back porch, watching the dog—a golden retriever with zero dignity—chase its tail in circles. The party noise thudded behind us, bass and laughter and people pretending to be cooler than they actually were. Fox had this way of making silence feel comfortable, like she wasn't waiting for me to say something brilliant.

"My brother won a goldfish at the fair once," she said suddenly. "Named it Captain. That fish lived for four years in a tiny bowl on his nightstand. I used to stare at it for hours, just swimming in circles, same route every time. Sometimes I feel like that's us, you know? Just going through the motions, waiting for something to happen."

"Captain died?"

"Got fin rot. My mom flushed him. My brother cried for an hour, then went back to playing Fortnite. Weird how we get attached to things that can't even remember us."

The dog collapsed at our feet, panting like it had just run a marathon. I looked at Fox—really looked at her—and noticed for the first time that her eyes weren't suspicious at all. Just thoughtful.

"You stole my hoodie," I said.

"I know."

"You could've just asked."

"Where's the drama in that?" She grinned, and suddenly the papaya and the goldfish and the dog chasing its tail all made sense. Sometimes you do weird things because you're waiting for someone to notice. Sometimes you steal hoodies because you want someone to chase you.

"You can keep it," I said. "It looks better on you anyway."

Inside, someone started playing the song we'd been dancing to at homecoming last year. Fox stood up and extended a hand.

"Come on. If we stay out here any longer, people will think we're anti-social."

"Aren't we?"

"Only on alternate Tuesdays." She pulled me up. "Also, I'm pretty sure that dog is about to pee on your shoes."

We went inside to the noise and the fake laughter and the terrible papaya. And somewhere in the crowd, for the first time all night, I didn't feel like a goldfish in a bowl anymore.