Goldfish Operation

Maya's hair had been acting like it had a personal vendetta against humidity all morning, frizzing into what she mentally dubbed "The Explosion." She adjusted her beanie for the third time, sighed, and kept running.

Literally running—cross-country practice was the only time her brain actually shut up. Coach said she had good form. Her mom said it was good for her "anxious energy." Maya said it was better than spiraling about what Chloe and her squad were whispering about in homeroom.

"Hey!"

She nearly wiped out on the gravel. Jake, leaning against his car like this was a music video, not the school parking lot.

"Spying on the competition?" he asked, jerking his chin toward the gym doors where the dance team was gathering.

Maya's face burned. "I run here every day. You know this."

"Yeah, but today you were totally scoping out their new routine. Admit it."

Okay, maybe she'd slowed down a little near the doors. Whatever.

"I have a bio test," she deflected. "Unlike some people, I can't just show up and wing it."

"Fair." He fished in his pocket, pulled out a key. "Listen, my aunt's out of town and her goldfish is acting weird. Can you check on him? You're, like, the fish whisperer or something."

"The fish whisperer? Really?"

"Bubbles is depressed, Maya. I can tell. He needs someone who gets him."

"Bubbles?" She couldn't help it—she laughed. "That's the most basic fish name ever."

"He was born for it. Please? I'll Venmo you twenty bucks."

"Thirty. And you never call me the fish whisperer again."

"Deal."

Later, standing in his aunt's apartment, Maya stared at Bubbles. The goldfish floated near the top, mouth opening and closing like he was judging her life choices.

"Look," she whispered, tapping the glass. "We're both just swimming in circles, okay? But at least I'm not stuck in a bowl."

Bubbles blew a bubble.

"True."

Her phone buzzed. Group chat: Chloe was having people over Friday. Everyone was going.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. She could type "can't." She could pretend she had plans. She could stay home with her fish-therapy sessions and call it a night.

Instead: "what time"

Three little dots appeared immediately. "7! Come early? We're doing makeup and hairrrr"

Maya caught her reflection in the fish tank—hair still frizzy, face flushed from running, fish-obsessed weirdo with social anxiety and exactly one real friend who was also doing this favor for free.

She grinned.

"You know what, Bubbles? I think I'm gonna be okay."

Bubbles did a tiny flip.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."