Goldfish & Market Chaos

Maya stared at her pet goldfish swimming in endless circles around his bowl. 'At least you don't have to go to school tomorrow, Finneas,' she whispered. The goldfish ignored her, too busy chasing his own tail.

Her phone buzzed again. Another text from the group chat: everyone at school was basically spying on each other's posts, trying to figure out who'd be at Jordan's party Friday. Maya's fingers hovered over the keyboard—should she lie and say she was busy? Admit she hadn't been invited?

'Maya!' Her mom's voice echoed up the stairs. 'Come eat before your spinach gets cold!'

Gross. Nobody should have to eat spinach before a social interrogation. But Maya dragged herself downstairs anyway, scrolling through Instagram as she chewed the bitter green stuff that tasted like sadness and regret.

At dinner, her dad was in full bull market mode. 'Crypto is mooning, honey! We're talking life-changing money.' He'd been saying that for three years.

Her mom rolled her eyes. 'Meanwhile, your brother lost three hundred dollars on that bear squeeze he swore was a guaranteed play.'

Maya's phone vibrated under the table. A notification from Jordan: 'hey, you coming Friday?'

Her heart did this weird flip thing. Not the bad kind. The kind that made her remember why she'd had a crush on him since seventh grade, even though he was basically oblivious and probably still thought girls were some alien species he hadn't figured out yet.

'Maya? Earth to Maya.' Her mom waved a fork in her face. 'I asked if you wanted to bring a friend to the lake house this weekend.'

'Um.' Maya stared at her spinach like it held the secrets to not being awkward. 'Actually, I think there's this party...'

'Oh!' Her dad perked up. 'A party! That's excellent social development. Very bullish for your high school experience.'

Her mom actually smiled. 'So you're making friends?'

'Something like that,' Maya mumbled, texting back: 'absolutely. wouldn't miss it.'

Later that night, she fed Finneas an extra pinch of fish flakes. 'You're gonna have to help me pick an outfit,' she told him. The goldfish swam to the top of his bowl, doing a little loop like he understood.

Maybe high school wasn't so terrible after all. Maybe it was just like being a goldfish—swimming in circles until you figured out which way was up. And maybe, just maybe, Friday night would be the start of actually swimming somewhere instead of just chasing her own tail.