Goldfish in the Orange Sun

Maya's purple streaked hair frizzed in the humidity as she stood behind the concession stand, watching everything unfold. The varsity baseball game was tied, bottom of the ninth, and somehow she'd gotten roped into working the snack bar instead of sitting with her friends in the bleachers. Again.

"Hey, can I get another orange soda?" It was Lucas—the guy she'd been lowkey crushing on since September. He grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his jersey. His hair was a mess, but like, in a cute way.

Maya's hands shook as she popped the tab. "Yeah, sure."

"Thanks. You're saving my life out here." He leaned against the counter, way too close. "Hey, are you coming to Jake's party tonight?"

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. Her mom: bringing home goldfish for the new tank. AGAIN. Maya loved her mom, but ever since the divorce, she'd been obsessively filling their house with pets, plants, random throw pillows—anything to make it feel "warm" and "homey." Whatever that meant.

"Maybe?" Maya told Lucas, even though she'd promised her mom she'd help set up the aquarium.

"Cool. I'll look for you." He winked. Actually winked. Maya's stomach did that weird flip thing it always did when he talked to her.

But then she remembered: her hair. The purple dye job she'd done herself last weekend because she wanted to look different, feel different, be someone who wasn't just the girl whose parents split up six months ago. Someone bold. Someone who went to parties and had normal problems.

Instead she was stuck at the concession stand, soon to be stuck at home with a new goldfish while her mom tried to build a perfect domestic life out of fish tanks and throw pillows.

Lucas headed back to the field. Maya watched him go, then grabbed her phone. Her fingers hovered over the text to her mom—sorry, can't help with the fish tonight—and for a second, just a second, she considered sending it. Being that person. The one who said no, who showed up late, who lived a little.

But then she thought of her mom, alone in their half-empty house with yet another goldfish that would probably die in three weeks anyway.

Maya typed: be home soon. can't wait to meet them.

The orange sunset burned through the chain-link fence as the baseball game ended. Someone hit a home run. Everyone cheered. Maya watched the fireworks go off in the distance—Jake's party starting without her—and she felt something settle in her chest. Not quite happy, not exactly sad. Just real.