Goldfish, Fox, and the Bull Ride

The summer before sophomore year, Maya's goldfish Ferdinand died at the worst possible time—right when she was supposed to be at Tyler's party. Instead of flirting with the cute skater boy she'd been crushing on since eighth grade, she was stuck in her bathroom conducting a funeral flush for a fish she'd won at a carnival three years ago.

"This is such bull," she muttered, watching Ferdinand spiral into the plumbing abyss. Her phone buzzed like crazy on the counter—her friends wondering where she was, Tyler possibly asking about her (unlikely, but a girl could dream).

Her older brother Leo leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "You know what's wild? Scientists say goldfish have three-second memories. Maybe Ferdinand died of boredom."

"Shut up, Leo." Maya grabbed her phone and headed for the door. "I'm going to the party."

"The fox strikes at midnight," he called out, using their grandma's weird phrase for when someone was about to do something brave and possibly stupid.

The party was already popping when Maya arrived—bas shaking with bass, red solo cups everywhere, and Tyler holding court on the backyard patio like he owned the place. Maya felt that familiar tightness in her chest, the social anxiety that had been her worst enemy since middle school.

Then she saw Avery—aka "the Fox" for her cunning ways and impossible ability to get whatever she wanted—cornering Tyler near the makeshift dance floor. Avery was everything Maya wasn't: confident, popular, seemingly fearless.

"Hey," Maya said, appearing beside them before she could overthink it. "Tyler, you ever been bull riding?"

The question came out of nowhere—there was no bull in sight, just an inflatable mechanical bull thing someone's older brother had rented for the party. But the look on Avery's face was worth it.

Tyler laughed. "No. You?"

Maya climbed onto that mechanical bull like her life depended on it, holding on as it jerked and spun. Everyone gathered around, cheering. She fell off after eight seconds, but she landed laughing, and Tyler was looking at her like he was actually seeing her for the first time.

Later, as they sat on the grass watching Avery dramatically fail at bull riding, Tyler said, "You're pretty fearless, Maya."

She thought about Ferdinand, about the goldfish memory she wished she had—just forget the embarrassing moments, move on. Maybe that's what growing up meant: riding the bull even when you're terrified, even when you'd rather stay home flushing fish down the toilet.

"Nah," she said, grinning. "Just tired of letting the foxes win."