Goldfish Attention at the Party

Maya's phone buzzed in her pocket as she hovered outside Chloe's front door, heart doing gymnastics. First real house party. Seventeen never felt so terrifying.

Inside, the air smelled like cheap body spray and something tropical — papaya, maybe, from the fruit punch nobody was actually drinking. Maya grabbed a red cup just to have something to hold, her goldfish attention span darting between clusters of people who all seemed to know exactly what to do with their hands.

"You look like a zombie," someone said behind her. Maya turned to find Chloe's cat, Pickles, weaving through legs like he owned the place. A guy in a varsity jacket leaned against the wall, grinning. "School got you too, huh?"

"Something like that," Maya managed, suddenly hyperaware of everything: the bass thumping in her chest, her awkward grip on the cup, the way Pickles was now staring judgmentally from the sofa arm.

"I'm Tyrell." He pushed off the wall. "You're Maya, right? From AP Bio?"

She nodded. People knew her? That was new.

"Jake's being a total bull about college apps," Tyrell continued, nodding toward a guy holding court across the room. "Thinks he's getting into Stanford just because his dad's an alumni. Full-on霸凌 energy if you disagree."

Maya followed his gaze. Jake was loud, gesturing with his drink, surrounded by nodding faces. She'd been avoiding him since freshman year, when he'd made fun of her accent in Spanish class.

"My fish lived longer than his chances," Maya heard herself say. Both of them cracked up. Her neon goldfish had survived for three years before an unfortunate filter incident.

The zombie exhaustion from finals week suddenly lifted. Maybe this wasn't so scary. Maybe first parties were supposed to feel awkward, like everything else at seventeen.

"Wanna get some air?" Tyrell asked. "Pickles looks like he needs supervision anyway."

Maya smiled, setting down her untouched cup. "Lead the way."