Goldfish & Papara Nights

The cafeteria hummed with that Friday-before-break energy, but Maya barely noticed. She pushed spinach around her tray with her fork, her stomach doing somersaults.

"You're actually gonna eat that?" Jordan rolled his eyes, sliding onto the bench across from her. "That's like, actual grass."

Maya forced a smile. Jordan had been her best friend since seventh grade, back when they'd bonded over their mutual hatred of dodgeball and obsession with that vintage video game nobody else remembered. But lately? Lately Jordan seemed different—more interested in being seen with the popular crowd, less interested in their Friday night gaming marathons.

"My mom's doing this whole 'plant-based' thing," Maya said, which was mostly true. She just didn't mention she'd actually volunteered to try it, hoping it might make her feel like she had her life together. "Whatever. What's up with you?"

Jordan's face lit up. "Okay, so get this—Lisa's having people over tonight, and she invited me. Her cousin's bringing these frozen papaya things from this specialty place in the city, apparently they're amazing—"

Maya's stomach dropped. Tonight. Their night. They'd had plans since Monday— Netflix and complaining about their math project. But Jordan didn't even seem to remember.

"That sounds... fun," Maya said, and hated how small her voice sounded.

"You should come!" Jordan added, like an afterthought. "I mean, if you want. It's gonna be mostly seniors, but whatever."

Maya almost said yes. Almost pretended she didn't care about feeling out of place, about not knowing anyone, about how papaya tasted like soap to her but she'd eat it anyway just to fit in. But then she remembered her pet goldfish, Bubbles, who'd died last month because she'd forgotten to change his water for three weeks straight. Some things just couldn't be forced.

"Nah," Maya said, popping a piece of spinach into her mouth and actually tasting it—bitter, earthy, real. "I'm good. Got stuff to do."

Jordan's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, already half-gone. "Cool. Catch you later, I guess."

"Yeah," Maya called after him, already feeling lighter. "Later."

That night, she ate the rest of the spinach cold, watched her show alone, and didn't die from it. Sometimes growing up meant realizing that some friendships were like that papaya—looked interesting on the outside, but you didn't have to force yourself to enjoy them just because everyone else said you should.