Goldfish Protocol

The party was already low-key iconic when Maya arrived, fashionably late because she'd spent forty-five minutes panic-staring at her reflection. Her brother's old orange hoodie—vintage thrift store find, not fast fashion—was basically her emotional support garment. Inside, the air smelled like expensive perfume and something burning in the kitchen.

Maya gravitated toward the fish tank like a socially awkward moth to a flame. Three goldfish swam in endless circles, living their best aquatic lives while she stood there awkwardly clutching a red Solo cup. This was fine. Everything was fine. She was definitely not having an existential crisis about why she came when she could've been home rewatching her comfort show for the fourth time.

Then Jordan walked in.

Jordan, who had that bear tattoo on their forearm that everyone talked about. Jordan, who'd sat behind Maya in bio last year and somehow made Punnett squares feel like a whole vibe. Maya's palms instantly started sweating—like, actually physically sweating. She shoved her hands in her hoodie pockets and tried to look casual and not like someone whose brain was currently screaming at maximum volume.

"Hey," Jordan said, suddenly beside her. "Nice hoodie."

Maya's brain short-circuited. "Thanks. It's... orange."

*Smooth. Absolute champion of social interaction.*

Jordan laughed, and it was this warm, genuine sound that made Maya's chest do something embarrassingly fluttery. "Yeah, I caught that. You okay? You look like you're calculating escape routes."

"I literally am," Maya found herself admitting. "This is my first real party since, like, middle school. My social battery is basically at 3%."

"Same," Jordan said, leaning against the wall beside her. "I came because my friend said there'd be pizza, but the pizza is apparently a myth. Want to go sit outside? It's loud in here."

They ended up on the back porch, sharing earbuds and watching someone's attempt to connect a portable speaker to a phone with a charging cable that was clearly not built for this struggle. The cable kept slipping, and the guy was getting progressively more frustrated, and Maya and Jordan sat there making quiet jokes about it until they were both laughing so hard their stomachs hurt.

Somewhere between the cable struggle and Jordan showing her a meme that literally described her entire personality, Maya realized her hands had stopped sweating. She wasn't thinking about escape routes anymore. She was just... present.

"You know," Jordan said quietly, "I'm glad I came over to talk to you."

"Yeah," Maya said, and it wasn't even a lie. "Me too."

Inside, the goldfish kept swimming in circles, doing their fish thing. Outside, under the palm tree in the neighbor's yard that was barely visible through the fence, Maya stayed way later than she'd planned, talking about everything and nothing until her phone died.

Social battery? Fully recharged.