Goldfish Girl
Maya pulled her dad's oversized beanie down over her ears, a flimsy shield against the basement party's thumping bass. Sixteen and still allergic to social situations, she clutched her iPhone like a lifeline, thumb hovering over the Uber app.
"Hey, Hat Girl!" someone called.
Maya froze. That was Jake. The Jake who'd sat behind her in bio since September, whose smile made her forget her own name.
She'd spent weeks crafting the perfect Instagram aesthetic. Meanwhile, real-life Maya couldn't even speak to him without morphing into a human-flushing toilet.
"You're blocking the tank." Jake pointed behind her.
The centerpiece of this pre-apocalyptic gathering: a lone goldfish swimming aggressive circles in a fishbowl.
"His name is Chad," Jake said, serious as a heart attack. "My brother won him at a carnival. Chad's been to, like, seven parties this month. He's living his best life."
Maya stared at the fish. Chad looked traumatized.
"He's got main character energy," she deadpanned before she could overthink it.
Jake laughed. A real one. That crinkle-around-the-eyes laugh she'd only seen from three rows away.
They spent the next hour by the fishbowl, watching Chad do laps while making up a backstory about his secret career as a party-hopping influencer. Jake admitted he hated these things too. Maya took off her hat.
When her phone buzzed—her mom asking where she was—Maya almost ignored it. But she'd promised to text.
"I gotta go," she said, already regretting it.
"Same." Jake glanced at the fish. "Chad deserves a quieter venue anyway."
Maya smiled, something unclenched in her chest. "Maybe next time we coordinate something Chad-friendly. Like, I don't know, a pond?"
"Bold of you to assume he's outdoor-rated," Jake said.
She walked home phone-in-pocket, goldfish-swim anxiety finally fading to something like hope. Being herself didn't require hiding anymore. The hat could stay in her bag.
Chad, oblivious to his role as emotional support animal, kept swimming in aggressive, triumphant circles.