Goldfish Hour

Maya stood by the refreshments, clutching her red solo cup like it contained the antidote to social suicide. Her first real high school party, and she was already fifteen minutes into hiding behind the kitchen island. The bass from the living room made the countertop vibrate under her palms, and everywhere she looked, people were being effortlessly chill, while Maya felt like she was failing a test she hadn't studied for.

"You look like you're waiting for someone to jump out and scare you."

Maya jumped. Actually jumped. The guy beside her grinned — messy dark hair, stupidly perfect jawline, holding — was that a goldfish? In a plastic bag?

"It's for Peter," he said, following her gaze. "Won it at the carnival. His house, his problem."

The goldfish swam in lazy circles, completely unbothered by the chaos of teenage social hierarchy happening around it. Maya envied the fish.

"I'm Leo," he said. "And you look like you'd rather be literally anywhere else."

"Maya." She considered lying, saying she loved parties, but something about his goldfish-bearing energy made her honest. "I've never done this before. The party thing. I'm not good at... people-ing."

"People-ing isn't real." Leo gestured with the fish bag. "Everyone's just pretending they know what they're doing. Look at them."

He pointed at a group of juniors taking selfies. "They've taken thirty photos of the same angle. That girl's been laughing for five minutes straight. No one is that amused."

Maya found herself smiling. "You're observant."

"I've had a lot of practice being the weird one with the fish."

Thunder cracked outside, and suddenly the room went pitch black.

"Power's out!" someone yelled.

Then lightning flashed through the windows, illuminating everything in stark white-blue — the frozen faces, the scattered phones, Leo's surprised expression, the goldfish suspended in its bag like it was glowing.

"Everyone chill!" Leo's voice cut through the murmurs. "It's just weather. Who's got flashlight on their phone?"

In the emergency lighting, something shifted. The carefully curated cliques dissolved into groups of people just trying not to trip over furniture. Someone started a ghost story. Two seniors who'd been ignoring each other all year ended up sharing snacks on the couch.

"This is better," Maya murmured.

"Yeah?" Leo stood beside her now, the goldfish bag between them. "No performing. Just existing."

"Exactly."

"Hey." He glanced at her, then away. "You want to get out of here? There's this porch swing-"

"Yes."

They sat on the swing, listening to the rain, watching the lightning flicker like camera flashes from someone documenting the night the power went and the social order broke.

"So," Leo said after a while. "Next Friday. Movie marathon? You can bring the snacks if I bring the fish."

"It's a deal," said Maya, and for the first time all night, she wasn't pretending to be anyone.