Goldfish Conspiracy

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she could practically water plants with them. Which would've been convenient, actually, since she was stuck working the register at Pet Paradise while Jordan—the absolute finest human to ever grace their sophomore class—stood three feet away, examining the wall of aquariums.

"Nice goldfish," he said, pointing at a particularly orange one doing lazy laps. "They, like, have three-second memories, right?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. This was it. Her moment. She'd been lowkey spying on Jordan's Instagram stories for months (don't judge, his sneaker collection was elite) and knew exactly what to say. Something chill. Something effortless.

"Actually that's a myth," she blurted, volume level: emergency siren. "They can remember stuff for months and I read this study where they can even recognize faces and—"

Jordan's eyebrows shot up. "Oh. Cool."

*Cool.* He said it was cool. Maya's heart did a little TikTok dance in her chest.

"My cousin's a marine biologist," she lied immediately, because apparently her mouth had entered full self-sabotage mode. "She taught me how to read their... fins. It's like palm reading, but for fish."

Why. WHY did she say that. The temperature in the store rose approximately forty degrees.

But Jordan—bless his beautiful, confused soul—actually stepped closer. "For real? Can you show me?"

Maya stared at the goldfish, who stared back with what she imagined was pure judgment.

"See how he's swimming toward the glass?" Maya's voice shook as she improvised wildly. "That means... opportunity approaches. New beginnings."

Jordan nodded slowly. "That's actually kinda deep."

They spent the next twenty minutes as she invented increasingly ridiculous fish-fortune meanings. The orange goldfish was destined for greatness. The spotted one needed emotional healing. The tiny one? Definitely going to ask someone to homecoming soon.

When Jordan finally bought the orange fish, he grinned. "Thanks, Maya. This was... honestly pretty epic."

He knew her name. HE KNEW HER NAME.

As he walked out, Maya looked at her own palm—the one she'd been pressing against the counter to stop the shaking. The goldfish in the nearest tank swam up and did a little flip.

"You're never gonna believe this," she whispered to it. "But I think I just got myself a date."

The fish said nothing, which was probably for the best. Some secrets were worth keeping to herself. Even if they started with a complete lie about fish fortune-telling.