Goldfish Confessions

Maya's iPhone lay face-down on her nightstand, glowing with the weight of unread texts. Pool party at Connor's. Everyone going.

She hated pools. Hated the way her legs felt heavy, how water crept into her nose, how her body refused to do what other people's did naturally. Swimming was something normal people did. Maya ran track instead — solid ground beneath her feet, everything measurable and predictable.

"You coming?" her mom called from downstairs.

"Yeah," Maya lied.

In her room, she fed Finbar. The goldfish circled his bowl, orange scales catching afternoon light. She'd won him at a carnival sophomore year, and somewhere between then and now, he'd become her actual therapist.

"Finbar, I can't keep doing this," she whispered. "Everyone's gonna be in the pool. I'm gonna be the weirdo sitting on the edge. Again."

Finbar blew a tiny bubble.

"That's what I thought."

Her phone buzzed again. Connor: pls come, it's not fun without u

Maya's stomach did that thing it did before races. Except this wasn't a race. This was existing.

At the party, bodies sliced through blue water, laughter bouncing off tiles. Someone yelled "CANNONBALL" and water erupted near the edge. Maya stood by the snack table, iPhone clutched in her hand like a shield.

"Maya!" Jordan waded over, dripping wet. "Get in!"

"I'm good."

"You've been saying that since seventh grade." Jordan didn't say it mean. Just... Jordan.

Maya's chest squeezed.

"I don't know how," she said finally.

Jordan blinked. "What?"

"I don't know how to swim."

The silence stretched. Maya reached for her phone to escape, to scroll, to disappear into someone else's life.

"We can teach you," Jordan said simply.

That night, Maya texted her mom: learned something today.

Later, feeding Finbar, she realized she hadn't checked her phone once in two hours. The goldfish circled his bowl, and for the first time, Maya didn't feel like she was underwater.

She was just swimming.