Goldfish Memory

The problem with having a goldfish memory in high school is that you keep forgetting who you're supposed to be. One minute you're the quiet girl in the back of AP Bio, the next you're accidentally waving at the wrong person in the hallway because you could've sworn they were in your third period English.

Which is how I ended up in this situation: wedged between the recycling bin and a potted fake plant in the cafeteria, basically conducting a covert spy operation on my own former best friend group.

Maya sat three tables away, wearing that papaya-colored sundress she'd bought for spring break—the one I was supposed to be there for, before my parents dragged me to my grandma's instead. Her new friends sat around her, laughing at something Jenna said. Jenna, who used to make fun of Maya's laugh. Funny how things changed.

My stomach growled. I'd skipped breakfast again. Mom had started this new health kick, which meant our kitchen was full of exotic fruits I'd never heard of and absolutely zero Pop-Tarts. The papaya smoothie she'd made me that morning still sat on the counter, untouched.

The cafeteria doors swung open, and Ethan walked in wearing that bright orange hoodie he refused to wash because it was "lucky." Lucky for what, exactly? We hadn't won a single soccer game since he bought it freshman year.

Our eyes met across the room. For three seconds, neither of us looked away.

Then he smiled and raised an eyebrow, like *what are you doing behind that plant?*

My face burned. I slid down until I was basically crouching.

"Need an extraction?" Ethan's voice came from above me.

I looked up to find him standing there, orange hoodie blinding in the fluorescent light. "I'm not hiding. I'm... conducting field research."

"On what? The effects of social isolation on the teenage brain?" He grinned. "Come on. I was gonna get boba. There's this new place—"

"Ethan!" Maya's voice carried across the cafeteria. She waved him over.

He hesitated, glancing between her and me. The Ethan from middle school would've gone to her without thinking. The Ethan standing in front of me, orange hoodie and all, shrugged.

"Actually," he called back, "I'm good. Maybe later?"

Maya's face fell. Just a little. But I saw it.

Ethan turned back to me. "So, boba?"

"I think," I said, standing up and brushing fake plant leaves off my jeans, "that I'd like that."

Maybe goldfish have it figured out. Forget everything that happened three seconds ago and just keep swimming.

Or maybe you find new ponds.

Either way, you keep moving.