Goldfish & Lightning Strikes

Maya's mom stood in the kitchen doorway, holding out the orange bottle like it was some kind of life-altering revelation.

"Your vitamin D levels are literally non-existent, Maya. You're inside all day staring at screens. Take it."

Maya groaned and grabbed the bottle, shoving it in her backpack alongside her padel racquet. Because apparently, according to her older sister Sofia, padel was THE sport this summer. All the cool kids were playing at the club. All the people who actually had social lives and didn't spend Friday nights talking to their goldfish about how they'd rather be anywhere else.

Her goldfish, Bubbles, stared back with his permanent expression of mild confusion.

"At least you don't pressure me, bro," Maya whispered, dropping a flake into his bowl. "You're just vibing. Living your best fish life."

The padel courts were packed when she arrived, her heart already doing that thing where it felt like it might actually exit her chest. There he was—Liam, from her history class, standing near the net with that easy confidence that made Maya's brain short-circuit. His laugh was actual lightning, striking through the noise of the court, bright and impossible and overwhelming.

"Maya! Finally!" Sofia waved her over. "We need a fourth for mixed doubles. You're up."

Panic. Actual, full-blown panic. Maya had barely practiced. Her serve was tragic. She was about to embarrass herself in front of Liam, who was now walking toward them, smiling at her like she wasn't about to humiliate herself.

"Hey Maya," he said. "Ready to get destroyed?"

"Born ready," she replied, despite every cell in her body screaming the opposite.

But here's the thing about Maya—she was scrappy. And maybe it was the vitamins kicking in, or maybe it was just pure desperation to impress this boy, but she started returning shots she had no business returning. Her racquet found some weird rhythm with Liam's, like they'd been playing together for years. When he smashed a winner past their opponents and high-fived her, his hand lingering against hers, Maya felt something that wasn't panic. It was warmer, slower, like actual lightning caught in a jar.

"You're actually really good," he said afterward, sitting next to her on the bench. Their knees brushed. "We should play again."

Maya's phone buzzed—a text from her mom: DID YOU TAKE YOUR VITAMIN???

She smiled, typing back: YEEN MOM. Then she turned to Liam, goldfish-bowl memory suddenly very far from her mind.

"Tomorrow?"

His grin was brighter than any summer storm. "Tomorrow."