Goldfish Memories

Maya's bedroom smelled like tropical fruit Skittles and the faint algae scent of Bubble's fishbowl. Three months into freshman year, and she'd already memorized the pattern of water stains on her ceiling.

"You're the only one who gets it," she told Bubble, her carnival-won goldfish who'd survived against all odds. "You don't ask why I sit with different people at lunch every day. You don't notice I haven't been invited to anything since..."

Since Jordan stopped being her friend.

The vitamin bottle sat on her nightstand — her mom's latest attempt to fix everything. "These will help with stress," she'd promised. Maya swallowed one every morning like a ritual, waiting for the magic to kick in. Spoiler: it hadn't.

Her phone buzzed. Jordan.

*hey*

Maya stared at the screen so long it dimmed. Jordan, who used to braid Maya's hair on the bus in sixth grade. Jordan, who'd found new friends when they started middle school, leaving Maya to figure out the social hierarchy alone.

*heard what happened at the game last night. you okay?*

Something tightened in Maya's chest. She'd had a panic attack in the bathroom during halftime. Someone must have seen.

*i'm fine* she typed, then backspaced. Why lie?

*actually no. not really*

*want to come over? I have those gummy vitamins you like*

Maya snorted. Jordan remembered her weird obsession with cherry-flavored everything from when they were twelve.

The doorbell rang twenty minutes later. Jordan stood there in her basketball jersey, hair messy, holding a container of gummies.

"I haven't seen you in actual forever," Jordan said, pushing past Maya's awkwardness like it was nothing. "And your goldfish is still alive? That thing is immortal."

They sat on the floor eating vitamin gummies and watching Bubble do laps around his castle. Jordan didn't ask about the panic attack. She just talked about her new basketball team, and how she'd bombed her math test, and how sometimes she felt like everyone expected her to be this confident person when she was actually low-key freaking out all the time.

"I thought you were happy with your new friends," Maya admitted.

"They're cool," Jordan shrugged. "But they're not you."

Bubble swam to the front of his bowl, staring at them with his weird bulging eyes. Maybe goldfish had better memories than people gave them credit for. Maybe they remembered everything, even the stuff they pretended to forget.

"Same time next week?" Maya asked when Jordan got up to leave.

"Every week," Jordan said. "And bring the weird cherry vitamins. My mom thinks they're candy."

Maya watched her go, then turned to Bubble. "See?" she whispered. "We're not so bad at this friend thing."

Bubble did a little flip. A tiny, unimpressive, absolutely perfect victory dance.