Goldfish in the Beanie

My palms were sweating so bad I could barely grip the plastic bag. Three hours ago, I'd won this goldfish at the carnival — now I was crashing Jake Morrison's party with a live pet in my pocket like some kind of psychopath.

"You gonna stand in the doorway all night?" Maya appeared beside me, grinning. She had that effortless vibe, like she'd never experienced an awkward moment in her life.

"I'm... observing," I said.

"You're hiding," she corrected. "Behind a plastic bag."

The bass from somewhere downstairs shook the floorboards. Someone shouted "SHOTS!" and there was collective cheering. My stomach twisted itself into knots. This was it. The first real party of sophomore year, and I was about to become that girl who brought her pet fish to a rager.

Maya's eyes landed on the bag. "Wait, is that —"

"His name is Gerald," I said defensively. "I couldn't just leave him in my room. My cat's a serial killer."

She laughed. Not mean-laughed. Actually laughed. "Okay, we need to get you settled. C'mon."

We pushed through the crowd into the kitchen, where someone was mixing something radioactive in a solo cup. The air smelled like cheap body spray and something burning. Maya grabbed a Solo cup, filled it with tap water, and gestured for the bag.

"Trust me," she said.

I poured Gerald into the cup. He swam in confused circles.

"Now," Maya said, reaching for a gray beanie on some guy's head. "Sorry Tyler, emergency."

She plopped the hat onto Gerald's cup. "See? He's undercover. Nobody brings a fish to a party, but everybody brings a guy in a hat."

I stared at her. "That makes zero sense."

"Welcome to high school," she winked. "Now let's get you a drink. Non-alcoholic. Gerald's designated driver."

By midnight, Gerald had been Instagrammed fourteen times. Some guy tried to trade me a vape pen for him. Two people asked if he was an emotional support animal. My palms weren't sweating anymore.

Maya passed me on the stairs. "Told you you'd be fine."

"Yeah," I said, watching Gerald vibe in his cup-hat on the counter. "Guess I just needed the right... accessory."

"Or the right friends," she said, and disappeared into the crowd.

My phone buzzed. Mom: HOME BY 1.

I fished Gerald from his cup, dumped him back into the bag, and grabbed the beanie. Tyler was long gone anyway.

"Nice hat," someone called as I headed out.

"Thanks," I said. "It's vintage."