Goldfish Grace

Maya stared at the mirror, her hair refusing to cooperate. Again. The curly explosion framing her face had decided today was the day it would achieve maximum volume, minimum cute.

"You're not seriously stress-crying over hair again," said Jordan, her best friend since kindergarten, sprawled across Maya's bed while scrolling through TikTok. "It's just Tyler's party. Not the Met Gala."

"Easy for you to say," Maya muttered, attacking another frizzy section with a straightening iron. "Your hair actually listens to reason. Mine has commitment issues."

Jordan snorted. "Tyler won't care what your hair looks like. He's been staring at you in algebra for like, three months. The boy is down bad."

A crash from downstairs made both of them jump.

"Oh no," Maya whispered, rushing toward the door. "Not again."

Her cat, Smokey, sat on the living room floor wearing his most innocent expression. Beside him lay a very wet, very NOT-innocent goldfish, flopping dramatically on the carpet.

"That's the third goldfish this month," Maya groaned, scooping up the fish and rushing it back to its bowl. "My mom's gonna kill me. She thinks they're, like, literally committing suicide."

"Maybe they're just tired of the aquarium aesthetic," Jordan suggested. "Smokey's basically doing them a favor. Liberation, you know?"

Maya's phone buzzed. Tyler.

*hey, u still coming tonight?*

Her stomach did that annoying flip thing it always did when he texted.

"See?" Jordan peeked over her shoulder. "He wants you there. And let's be real, your hair looks fine. Actually, it looks kind of iconic. The whole 'I woke up like this' vibe."

Maya looked in the mirror again. The curls were still wild. Maybe Jordan was right. Maybe Tyler liked her hair wild. Maybe Smokey was just really ambitious.

"Fine," Maya said, grabbing her jacket. "But if I get there and everyone's hair is sleek and perfect, I'm blaming you."

"Deal." Jordan grinned. "Also, we're buying more goldfish on the way. Smokey clearly has a taste for fine dining."