Goldfish Promises and Orange Hair

Maya's palms were sweating so much she could practically fill a water bottle. This was it—the moment she'd been lowkey freaking out about for two weeks.

She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, fingers nervously tangling in her freshly dyed orange hair. The color was supposed to be "sunset copper," according to the box, but her mom had taken one look and said it looked like a traffic cone exploded. Whatever. At least it made her feel like someone new—someone brave enough to text him first.

Her little brother Leo burst in, waving a plastic baggie. "Maya! Watch Toast!" It was his carnival goldfish, the one he'd won because the carnie felt bad about his asthma attack. "He's not moving!"

"He's sleeping, Leo. Goldfish sleep."

"No really—"

"Leave me alone! I'm having a crisis!"

Maya shoved him out and locked the door. She grabbed her daily vitamin gummies from the counter—her mom's attempt to fix everything from her "moodiness" to her skin—then immediately spat them back out. Gross. Today called for emergency chocolate, not nutritional supplements.

Her phone buzzed. HIM.

"hey carnival still on?"

Maya's stomach did that thing where it felt like someone was wringing it out like a wet towel. The carnival. Where they'd maybe-possibly hold hands. Where she'd have to act normal and not like someone who had mentally rehearsed this moment approximately 847 times.

"yea see u at 7"

She stared at her palms again. Why did nervousness have to be so literal? It's not like anyone else could see her internal panic spiraling. But her hands told a different story—damp, trembling, traitorous.

Outside, Leo was wailing. Toast had, in fact, not been sleeping.

Maya opened the door to find her brother in full breakdown mode, clutching the empty fishbowl like it was sacred. Their mom was already Googling "goldfish funeral ceremonies" because that's just who she was.

"He was lonely," Leo sniffled. "He needed a friend."

And that's when it hit Maya—what if that's what she was doing? Overthinking everything, building it up in her head until it felt huge and scary, when really she just needed to show up. Be present. Maybe even have fun.

"Let's go get him a friend," Maya said. "But not now. Now I have somewhere to be."

She grabbed her jacket, orange waves swinging, and walked out with palms that were finally, finally dry.