Goldfish Orange

Maya pressed her back against the gymnasium wall, heart running a marathon against her ribs. The Fall Bash was in full swing—LED lights painting everything neon, bass thumping through the floorboards like a second heartbeat. She'd spent two hours curling her hair and another thirty debating whether the orange dress was too much. (Her friends said no. Her anxiety said yes, absolutely, everyone would stare.)

Then she saw him.

Leo stood near the refreshments table, looking unfairly good in a flannel that was probably thrifted because that was the kind of effortless cool he pulled off without trying. Maya's stomach did that thing it always did around him lately—like it was full of nervous goldfish swimming in frantic circles.

She needed courage. She needed spinach.

Okay, not literally. But earlier that day, her nana had sworn green vegetables gave you strength before important moments. Maya had eaten so much spinach at dinner she felt like Popeye, but apparently cultural wisdom wasn't cutting it because her feet were still superglued to the floor.

'Hey.'

Maya practically jumped. Leo was suddenly right there, grinning that lopsided grin that made her brain short-circuit.

'Hey yourself,' she managed, which sounded way cooler than she felt.

'You've been hiding all night.' He leaned against the wall next to her, close enough that she could smell his cologne—something woodsy and warm. 'Not exactly killing it on the social front, huh?'

'Maybe I'm socially reserved,' she shot back, then immediately wanted to evaporate. 'That sounded so pretentious.'

Leo laughed. 'It's fine. I'm literally fake-extroverting. My cat scratched my arm this morning and I almost skipped because I didn't want to explain the bandages, but my friends were like, you're going, we literally bought tickets.'

'Wait, you have a cat?' Maya perked up. 'What kind?'

'An orange tabby named Cheddar. He's kind of a jerk but he's my jerk.' Leo pulled out his phone, scrolling through photos. 'Here. This is him judging my entire existence.'

Maya leaned in, their shoulders brushing. The photo showed a thoroughly unimpressed cat staring into the camera like it personally resented being documented.

'He looks like he's plotting your downfall,' she said.

'Every single day.' Leo looked at her, really looked at her, and Maya's heart did something genuinely alarming. 'You know, you're way more chill when you're not overthinking everything.'

'I'm not overthinking,' she lied.

'You're not dancing either.' Leo nudged her arm. 'Come on. I promise not to step on your feet more than like, five times.'

Maya hesitated, then caught sight of her orange dress in the mirror across the room. Her nana's voice echoed in her head: sometimes courage is just showing up.

'Fine,' she said, letting Leo pull her toward the crowd. 'But if you suck at dancing, I'm judging you as hard as your cat.'

'Deal.'