Goldfish Confessions

Maya felt like a zombie. Third period AP Euro had that effect on everyone—like their brains were being slowly pickled in textbook preservatives. She stared at the clock, watching seconds drag like gum under a sneaker.

"You coming to Bri's party?" Chloe whispered, passing a note that said MR. HARRISON'S COMBOVER IS GETTING BIGGER.

"Doubt it." Maya ripped the note into tiny snowflakes. "My mom's still tripping about my C in chem."

"Ugh, lame." Chloe rolled her eyes so dramatically it practically hurt. "Tyler's gonna be there."

There it was. Tyler. The reason Maya's stomach did gymnastics every time someone mentioned a party. The reason she'd spent twenty minutes this morning deciding between the hoodie that said she didn't care and the one that said she cared exactly the right amount.

That afternoon, Maya's cat Potato appeared at her bedroom door like a tiny, judgmental loaf of bread.

"What?" Maya flopped onto her bed. "At least your biggest problem is whether I'll remember to feed you. Try being sixteen and having no clue who you're supposed to be."

Potato blinked slowly. This was his version of "that's cringe, bestie."

Her phone buzzed. Group chat: Tyler had asked if she was showing. Suddenly, Maya was running—not literally, though her heart was definitely doing cardio. Running from the possibility of actually being seen. Running toward the possibility that maybe, just maybe, someone could want the version of her that showed up in oversized hoodies and said awkward things.

"You're being a bull in a china shop," she told her reflection. "Just go. Be chill. Fail gracefully."

Bri's party was exactly what Maya expected: too many people, not enough air, someone's older brother dispensing warm soda from a plastic cooler. Tyler stood by the sliding glass door, looking unfairly good in that way that made Maya's brain short-circuit.

Then she saw it. A carnival goldfish in a bowl on the kitchen counter, swimming tiny anxious circles.

"My little sister won it," Bri explained. "Parents won't let her keep it."

Maya stared at the fish, suddenly understanding everything. The goldfish was just existing in its bowl, swimming the same loops, trapped in glass that everyone could see through but nobody could really understand.

That was her. That was everyone.

"Hey," Tyler said, suddenly beside her. "You okay?"

Maya looked at the goldfish, then at Tyler, then at herself reflected in the sliding glass door—zombie-tired but somehow awake.

"Yeah," she said, and for the first time all week, it wasn't a lie. "I'm good."

Potato would be proud. Being human was basically just swimming in circles anyway—might as well do it with people who actually noticed you were there.