Goldfish Memory Summer

The orange juice sat untouched on Maya's kitchen table while she scrolled through her friend Ava's Instagram stories. Perfect. Everything was perfect. Meanwhile, Maya's goldfish, Gilligan, floated sideways in his bowl on the counter, probably judging her life choices.

"You need that vitamin D supplement," her mom had said that morning, pressing a bottle into her hand. "You're always inside."

Maya had rolled her eyes so hard she saw her own brain. Like vitamins mattered when your social life was basically dead on arrival.

Her phone buzzed. Party at Jake's. 8 PM. Everyone going.

She hadn't been invited. But Ava had posted it publicly, so technically...

Technically was Maya's brand. Technically friends with the popular crowd. Technically invited to things she had to crash.

Gilligan did another lazy lap around his bowl. That fish had seen some things. He'd been there through the breakdown over her SAT score, the time she cut her own bangs, and last month when she thought she'd been ghosted by a guy she'd literally never spoken to.

"I'm going to Jake's," she told the goldfish. He stared back with his unimpressed fish face.

The party was already lit when she arrived at 8:15—fashionably late, or just late? She couldn't tell. Someone's older brother had bought a bull can energy drink dispenser thing, and red cups were everywhere. The air smelled like expensive perfume and nervous sweat.

Ava was by the speakers, laughing at something Jake said. Her laugh—that perfect, practiced laugh that sounded like wind chimes.

"Maya!" Ava actually sounded surprised. Which was worse than not being acknowledged at all. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Yeah, well." Maya played with the strap of her tote bag. "Here I am."

Someone handed her a drink. It was orange and suspiciously neon.

"It's got vitamins," a random sophomore shouted over the music. "It's basically health."

Maya took it because holding something was better than standing there like a lost child. She caught Ava's eye across the room. Ava smiled—that tight, automatic smile she gave everyone.

And suddenly Maya got it. The thing she'd been ignoring all summer.

She wasn't technically friends with these people. She wasn't technically anything. She was just orbiting their sun, hoping to catch some warmth by proximity.

Gilligan had a bigger world than she did.

She set the orange drink down on a random table and walked out. The night air hit her like cold water, sharp and real.

"Where you going?" Jake called from the porch.

"Home," she said. "My goldfish needs me."

"What?"

"He's the only one who doesn't bull me."

She didn't look back. Some stories needed to end before they began.