Goldfish Operations

Maya pressed her palm against the cool glass of her phone, sweat making the screen slippery. The Instagram profile stared back at her — @goldfish_queen, posted exactly three times, all blurry photos of a hallway she knew intimately. Lincoln High, west wing, near the bio lab.

"You're literally doing it again," said Jordan, dropping into the cafeteria seat across from her. "Spying on your own friend?"

"She's not my friend anymore," Maya said, though the words tasted like battery acid. "Not since she started hanging with the popular crowd and basically ghosted me."

Jordan rolled their eyes so hard it looked painful. "Okay, but stalking? Not the vibe. Also, did you finish the chem lab? Because I definitely didn't."

Maya ignored the question. Her thumb hovered over the DM button. Something about @goldfish_queen's posts felt familiar. The timing, the specific locations — it was like someone was leaving breadcrumbs, maybe even breadcrumbs meant for her.

The goldfish connection had started sophomore year, when Maya and Emma had won that pathetic carnival fish together, named it Gillbert, and accidentally killed it within three days. We'll be the Goldfish Squad forever, Emma had said. Forever had lasted seven months.

Now, Maya stared at her iPhone screen, heart hammering against her ribs. She typed: Gillbert would've hated that hallway anyway.

Send.

Three minutes later, her phone buzzed. A reply from @goldfish_queen: Gillbert had no taste. Also, meet me behind the gym after school. Come alone. Bring snacks.

Maya's stomach did that thing where it felt like she'd swallowed a swarm of butterflies. This was it — either a trap, or something real.

"You good?" Jordan asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or like you're about to do something incredibly dumb."

"Both," Maya said. "Probably both."

Behind the gym, Emma stood there, alone, looking exactly the same and completely different. Her palm was pressed against her own phone, screen dark.

"I knew you'd figure it out," Emma said. "The account, I mean. I had to — the popular crowd is exhausting, Maya. I miss us. I miss having someone to just... exist with."

Maya's throat felt tight. "So why the spy games? Why not just... text me?"

"Because I'm an idiot," Emma said, and then they were both laughing, the kind of laughing that makes your ribs hurt and your eyes water. "I thought maybe you'd moved on. Found better friends."

"Please," Maya said, digging into her backpack and pulling out a slightly squashed granola bar. "You know Jordan and I are basically chaos incarnate. We need a third. We definitely need someone who actually understands our references."

Emma took the granola bar. "I'm in. But first, tell me everything. Who sits at your table? What's the drama? I've been missing everything."

As they walked toward the parking lot, Maya's palm brushed Emma's — just briefly, but it was there. The familiar warmth, the electric shock of reconnection.

"So much to tell," Maya said. "Starting with why Jordan wears that one hoodie literally every single day, and ending with how I maybe accidentally started a rumor about Mr. Harrison being a former rock star."

Emma's laugh carried across the parking lot, bright and real and exactly what Maya hadn't known she was starving for.

The goldfish were gone. Gillbert was gone. But they weren't.

Not anymore.