Goldfish Memory Syndrome

The cafeteria noise hit me like a physical wave — trays clattering, laughter exploding, people shouting across tables. I slid into my usual spot against the wall, phone in hand, fully equipped to play the role of invisible background character.

"She's doing it again," Maya whispered, sliding in beside me. "The spy routine."

I shrugged, scrolling through Instagram. "Not spying. Just. Observing from a tactical distance."

"Riiight." Maya nodded toward the popular table. "Because you definitely weren't just watching Jason for the full three minutes it took him to walk from the lunch line."

"You're hallucinating," I said, but felt my face heat up. Jason from AP Bio, who somehow managed to make even a cafeteria tray look elegant.

Maya's cat Luna had kittens last week, and honestly? The way they tumbled over each other was the only thing keeping me sane. Sometimes I felt like I had goldfish memory — every social interaction felt brand new, terrifying, like I'd never done it before. What do normal people say? How do they stand without looking weird?

The weight on my chest lifted slightly when Jason actually looked my way. For a split second. Maybe.

Then Miller appeared at our table, looming like he owned the place. The school's star linebacker, built like a bull, permanently wearing that expression that said he knew something you didn't.

"Ladies," he said, leaning way too close. "You're in my seat."

Maya's eyes went wide. "Since when do assigned seats exist in the cafeteria?"

"Since I said so." Miller smirked, and I felt that familiar shrink-wrapped feeling — the one where your personality dissolves and you're just waiting for permission to exist again.

But then Jason appeared behind Miller, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Bro, they were here first. Let's grab the spot by the windows."

Miller rolled his eyes but left. Jason gave us this tiny salute before walking away, and my stomach did this full gymnastics routine.

"Did that just happen?" Maya breathed.

"I think I need to sit down," I said, already sitting.

"Dude. He literally defended our honor."

"Stop. Don't make it weird."

"Too late," she grinned. "This is the beginning of your character arc."

I watched Jason laugh with his friends, wondering if I'd actually talk to him tomorrow or if my goldfish brain would reset again. Either way, maybe invisibility wasn't permanent. Maybe some people actually saw me.