Goldfish & Lightning Storms

The vitamin gummies lived in my locker, next to the photo of me and Chloe that was starting to curl at the corners. Freshman year had been going exactly according to plan: volleyball tryouts in September, homecoming dance in October, and now November, when my best friend since seventh grade decided I was too basic for her new vibe.

"You're just so... predictable," Chloe said, not looking up from her phone where she was definitely texting someone cooler than me. "Like, you eat the same lunch every day. You take those gummy vitamins at the exact same time. You're like a robot programmed to be perfect."

I bit back that I'd stopped taking the vitamins weeks ago — they tasted like fake strawberry and disappointment. Instead I said, "Predictable isn't bad, though. It's—"

"It's boring, Maya. We're not in middle school anymore. Some of us are actually growing up." She flipped her hair and walked away to sit at a table with juniors.

That afternoon, I found myself at Petco, staring at a wall of fish tanks. My grandpa had a goldfish that lived for twelve years, and something about that felt comforting. Maybe I needed something that wouldn't leave me for cooler friends.

The clerk, a guy with blue hair and a name tag that said ALEX, watched me study the fish. "First time?"

"Is it that obvious?" I tucked hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious.

"You've got that 'my whole life just fell apart' face," he said, not unkindly. "Goldfish are great for that. Low maintenance, good listeners. Plus they have a three-second memory, so they won't judge you for rambling."

I named him Lightning, because his orange scales flashed like fire when he caught the light, and because I needed something electric in my life. Something that couldn't be called boring or predictable.

Two weeks later, Chloe slid into the seat across from me at lunch, her junior friends nowhere in sight. "Okay, fine, I miss you," she said, picking at my carrots. "Those girls are actually kind of mean. Can we just—I don't know, pretend last month didn't happen?"

I looked at her, really looked at her, and realized something terrifying: I didn't want to go back to being predictable Maya, the one who fit into whatever shape Chloe needed.

"Actually," I said, closing my locker on the photo that was still curling, "I think I'm good. But thanks for checking."

That night, I sat by my fish tank watching Lightning swim in circles, and finally took the vitamins out of my bag. They went in the trash, right next to the version of myself I was done pretending to be. Some things belong in the past. And some friendships are like three-second memories — brief, but somehow exactly what you needed to learn how to swim on your own.