Goldfish Memories & Orange Hair

The confession booth of North Valley High was technically the third-floor girls' bathroom, specifically the stall with the working lock. Maya pressed her back against the cold metal door, phone clutched in her sweating palm. Someone was definitely cyber-spying on her. How else would Jordan know she'd been crying over him? Unless she'd posted something dumb again. Her thumb hovered over his Instagram—no, she wasn't going there.

"Maya? You good in there?" Chloe's voice drifted through the door.

"Fine," Maya lied. "Just dying my hair."

"Again? What color this time?"

Maya looked at her reflection in the tiny mirror above the sink. Her hair was still that weird orange-ish shade from last week's DIY disaster. The box had said "sunset copper," but it turned out more "roadside cone." Everyone noticed. Jordan had definitely noticed. He'd probably laughed about it with his friends.

That's when she saw the fish.

A goldfish, tiny and impossibly bright, swam in the toilet bowl below her. It must've come from the biology lab fishbowl—this was the third bio-class escapee this semester. Maya stared at it, wondering if it understood how ridiculous high school was. Probably not. Goldfish had like, three-second memories or something. Imagine that. No drama. No spiraling over texts. Just swimming and being tiny and orange.

"Wait, are you actually dyeing your hair in a school bathroom?" Chloe called. "Because I can help. I have emergency wipes in my bag."

The goldfish did a little flip. Maya did not do a little flip.

"No," Maya said, something shifting in her chest. "Actually, I'm going to come out now."

She opened the door. Chloe stood there, looking concerned, holding out a makeup wipe.

"Your makeup's smudged," Chloe said simply.

"Thanks," Maya said. "And thanks for... not asking why."

"Girl, we all saw Jordan's story," Chloe said. "He's literally a clown. Also, fish live in water, not toilets, just so you know."

Maya laughed so hard her stomach hurt. The goldfish swam on, oblivious to how dramatic teenagers could be. Being dramatic and in love and sad and stupid and alive, all at once. Some days she wanted to be a fish. But most days, she kind of liked being human. Even when it hurt. Especially when someone handed you a wipe and didn't ask why your eyes were red.