Goldfish Don't Run

Maya's goldfish, Bubbles, was living his best life in that tiny bowl on her nightstand. Meanwhile, she was drowning in plain sight.

"Bro, you literally have three minutes until the bell," Sasha called from Maya's doorway, doing that casual lean that made everything look effortless.

Maya grabbed her backpack. Her iPhone buzzed again—another notification from the group chat that had been going off all morning. Someone had posted something. Something about her. She didn't want to look.

She'd been **running** from the truth all week. Since the incident at Jake's party. Since someone recorded something they shouldn't have and posted it for everyone to see. Since her follower count dropped by two hundred overnight and she started checking her phone every thirty seconds like it was oxygen.

"Coming."

Sasha's eyes landed on Bubbles. "Still alive? I thought goldfish had a three-second memory or something."

"That's a myth," Maya said automatically. "They can remember stuff for months."

"Weird flex, but okay." Sasha paused. "You coming to the meet today?"

Track. Right. Maya had been **running** varsity since freshman year. Now the thought of lacing up her sneakers and stepping onto that track made her stomach twist. Everyone would be watching. Everyone would know.

"I don't know."

"Maya." Sasha's voice softened. "Whatever happened—it's literally not that deep. People move on."

Easy for Sasha to say. She wasn't the one whose entire reputation had been shattered in 240 characters.

The kitchen smelled like **orange** peels. Mom must be making her morning smoothie again. The bright citrus scent cut through Maya's fog as she grabbed a granola bar.

"Maya, sit down for a second," her mom said. She was holding something behind her back.

"I'm gonna be late—"

"It'll take two minutes. Please."

Maya hesitated, then sat at the island. Her mom pulled out a small, wrapped package.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

Inside was a small box. Inside that, a pair of **orange** running shoes. Bright, impossible to miss, completely unapologetic **orange**.

"Mom..."

"You haven't been running," her mom said quietly. "You love running, Maya. But you've been avoiding it for weeks now. And I've noticed you're... not yourself."

Maya's throat tightened.

"I wanted to get you something impossible to ignore," her mom continued. "Something that says, 'I'm here, and I'm not hiding.'"

The color was ridiculous. It was bold. It was everything Maya wasn't feeling.

"They were on sale," her mom added. "And I know your old ones were getting worn out."

Maya stared at the shoes. **Orange**. The color of caution tape, construction signs, things that demand attention.

Her phone buzzed again.

She looked at the **orange** shoes. Then at her iPhone, face down on the counter.

Bubbles swam lazy circles in his bowl, completely unbothered. **Goldfish** don't run, she thought. They just swim. Over and over in the same tiny space.

She wasn't a goldfish.

Maya stood up. "Can I—"

"Take them," her mom said. "Wear them to the meet today."

**Running** track in those shoes was like announcing herself to the world. **Like, literally** impossible to miss. Every stride was screaming: HERE I AM. DEAL WITH IT.

Sasha was waiting by the bleachers when Maya arrived. "Okay, iconic choice."

"They were on sale," Maya said, but she was smiling a little.

The first race was the 400-meter. Maya stepped up to the line, **orange** shoes gleaming under the stadium lights. Her phone was in her bag, silenced. The notifications, the comments, the people waiting for her reaction—none of it mattered when the gun went off.

She ran.

Her sneakers hit the track with satisfying rhythm. One stride, two stride, breathe. She was moving forward, not in circles. Not trapped in some bowl waiting for someone to remember her existence.

She finished third. Not her best time, but not her worst either.

"Good race," Sasha said afterward, handing her a water bottle.

Maya's phone buzzed in her bag. She ignored it.

"You gonna check that?" Sasha asked.

"Nah," Maya said. "I think I'm done with that for today."

"Bold move."

Maya looked down at her **orange** shoes. "I know, right?"

That night, she sat by her window watching the sunset turn the whole sky **orange**. Bubbles was still swimming his circles, content in his tiny world. But Maya's world had gotten bigger.

She picked up her iPhone, scrolled through the notifications without opening them, and then put it facedown on the nightstand.

Tomorrow, she'd deal with it.

Tonight, she was just going to be. Not running. Not hiding. Just existing, in all her **orange**-shoed glory.

**Goldfish** don't run. But Maya definitely did.