Goldfish in the Palm

The house thumped. Bass shook through sneakers already sticky from spilled soda. Maya's first real party, and she was currently hyperventilating in the bathroom, studying her reflection like it might offer cheat codes for social interaction.

The plastic bag in her hand contained Walter. Her brother's goldfish. The one she was definitely not supposed to bring. The one she was now responsible for after accidentally knocking over his bowl while sneaking out. Walter swam in portable confusion, his tiny mouth opening and closing like he was judging her life choices.

"You got this," she whispered to Walter. "We just need to not look like we're about to throw up."

The bathroom door swung open. A girl with silver hair and a FOX skeleton shirt leaned against the doorframe, holding a red Solo cup. The fox grinned from her chest—mischievous, wild, unbothered.

"Bathroom line's out the door," the girl said. "I'm Riley. You're Maya, right? From AP Bio?"

Maya's palms went from sweaty to volcanic. "Yeah. That's me. AP Maya. The one who forgot her lab notebook three times this week."

Riley laughed, and something in Maya's chest unclenched. "I saw you slip out the back with that plastic bag. You know Carter's cousin does those palm readings in the garage if you're trying to hide from everyone. Or if you want someone to tell you your future involves less embarrassment."

"Is that what it says?" Maya asked before she could stop herself. "That I'll be less embarrassing?"

Riley's grin widened. "She told me I'd meet someone who was secretly carrying a fish to a high school party. Said it would be the most punk rock thing she'd seen all night." She held out her hand. "Come on. Walter needs better lighting. He's fading into the wall."

They sat cross-legged on the garage floor while Carter's cousin pretended to read Maya's palm lines. She got everything wrong—Maya wasn't adventurous, she didn't have a secret destiny, she wasn't "magnetic." But Riley kept catching her eye across the circle, smiling like she knew something nobody else did.

Later, when the party wound down and sensible parents started picking up their sensible children, Maya and Riley sat on the front steps watching Walter swim in his temporary home, a mason jar they'd liberated from the kitchen.

"So," Riley said, shoulder bumping Maya's. "Next time, leave Walter home. But text me first."

Maya's palms didn't sweat at all when she handed over her phone.