Goldfish in the Storm

The lightning flashed outside my bedroom window, illuminating the one thing in my life that made sense: Barnaby, my goldfish, swimming lazy circles in his bowl. He'd been alive since I was seven—a legit miracle, according to my mom—and honestly? He got me better than anyone at Northwood High.

"Maya, we need to talk," Sophie's text had said three hours ago. That was friend-code for "I'm about to destroy you emotionally."

I flopped onto my bed, phone face-down like that would make the messages stop coming. Sophie—my literal other half since sixth grade—had decided I was "too much" lately. Too emotional. Too intense. Too whatever.

Another lightning strike shook the window frame. I watched Barnaby do that thing goldfish do where they open and close their mouths like they're trying to say something profound.

"You ever feel like you're speaking a different language than everyone else?" I asked him. He blew bubbles.

My phone buzzed. Another group chat—without me. The screenshots had already started circulating: Maya having a breakdown at the party Friday (I'd been overwhelmed, okay?), Maya crying in the bathroom (privately, or so I'd thought), Maya being "so dramatic" about everything.

The sphinx in the mythology book on my desk caught my eye—half lion, half human, all riddles and mystery. That's how I felt. Like some unsolvable puzzle everyone had given up trying to understand.

Then my phone rang. Not a text. An actual call.

"Hello?"

"Hey." It was Alex from English class. The quiet one who sat in the back and drew sphinxes in his notebook. "Saw your Instagram story. You okay?"

I almost laughed. Almost.

"Not really."

"Wanna talk about it? Or I can just tell you about this Egyptian mythology documentary I'm watching. Your call."

Outside, the lightning flashed again. But for the first time all night, the storm didn't feel so lonely.

"Both," I said. "Definitely both."

Barnaby did a victory lap around his castle. Some friendships end, I realized, but sometimes lightning doesn't just destroy—it also illuminates the people worth keeping.