Goldfish & Green Smoothies

The fluorescent lights of the school cafeteria buzzed like an angry hornet. Maya slouched in her chair, perfectly blending into the linoleum. That was her superpower—invisibility.

"Dude, you have to try this." Jake pushed a murky green sludge toward her. "It's basically liquid gold. My personal trainer swears by it."

Maya sniffed the cup. It smelled like lawn clippings and regret. "What's in it?"

"Spinach, obviously. Plus this vitamin complex that costs more than my car." Jake gestured dramatically with his hands. "It changed my life, May. I'm telling you."

"Jake, you've been drinking it for three days."

"Three transformative days."

Maya's phone buzzed. Mom. AGAIN. She silenced it, stomach twisting. She'd been avoiding her mom's calls since The Incident—also known as her parents finding her vape pen under the mattress and grounding her until approximately never.

The guilt was a physical weight, heavy and sour. Her mom had cried. Her dad had done that disappointed silence thing, which was somehow worse.

"You good?" Jake asked. "You look like someone killed your dog."

"My dog's fine, Jake. Leo's living his best life."

"Then why the face?"

Instead of answering, Maya pointed at the goldfish swimming circles in Jake's clear Nalgene bottle. "You're just carrying that around now?"

"His name is Neptune. He's my emotional support animal. Mrs. Henderson tried to confiscate him during chem, but I told her he was a science project."

Neptune swam to the surface, mouth opening and closing like he had something important to say.

"You know," Maya said, "I read somewhere that goldfish have a three-second memory."

"Fake news," Jake said fiercely. "That's propaganda. Neptune remembers everything."

Maya's phone buzzed again. This time, a text: *Please come home for dinner. We miss you.*

Her throat tightened. She missed them too. But she was sixteen, and admitting she was wrong felt like swallowing glass.

"My mom found these," she said quietly, pulling a crumpled foil packet from her pocket. Gummy vitamins her grandmother had sent—herbal supplements supposed to help with "teen mood swings." She'd rolled her eyes when they arrived in the mail.

Now they felt like a lifeline.

"Those are basically candy," Jake said.

"I know."

"Take one anyway."

She did. Cherry flavor. Artificial red dye #40. Somehow, it helped.

Jake's green smoothie sloshed as he leaned in. "Look, Maya—whatever's going on? You don't have to tell me. But Neptune says you should call your mom."

"Did Neptune tell you that during chemistry?"

"Neptune is very wise."

Maya looked at the goldfish swimming in his plastic world, then at her phone, then at Jake's earnest face. Invisible or not, she didn't have to be alone.

"Fine," she said. "But I'm not drinking that smoothie."

"Deal." Jake grinned. "But you're missing out on greatness."

Neptune did a little flip.

Maya smiled and pressed call.