Goldfish in the Parking Lot

Maya's palms were sweating legit rivers, which was gross but also kind of fitting given where she was standing—trapped between the funnel cake stand and the guy she'd been crushing on since seventh period science.

"Five bucks for a goldfish," the carnie yelled. "Win a prize for your lady."

Leo actually laughed. "Nah, I'm good."

Maya's soul left her body. This was it. Peak embarrassment. She was about to mutter some excuse and bail when Leo's friend—this sophomore with a backwards hat and zero chill—shoved past her and pointed at Maya. "Bet you can't win her one."

Leo's face did this thing where he stopped laughing. Maya's palms went nuclear.

"Watch me."

He handed over five dollars and missed every single toss. The carnie looked at Maya like she was personally responsible. Leo's friends were howling. Maya wanted to evaporate.

Then Leo did something weird. He dug another five from his pocket, handed it to her, and stepped back.

"Your shot."

Maya's hands were literally shaking, but she tossed the ball and watched it sink. The carnie handed her a plastic bag with a single goldfish swimming inside like it regretted everything.

"Sweet," Leo said.

They spent the next hour sitting on the curb behind the parking lot while Maya held the bag and Leo talked about how goldfish only have seven-second memories, which Maya was pretty sure was fake but she didn't correct him because he was looking at her with this soft expression that made her chest feel weird.

The goldfish died two days later. Leo didn't ask about it. But whenever they passed each other in the hallway, he'd tap his hat and give her this tiny smile that made her palms start sweating all over again.