Goldfish Summer

The air conditioning at Pet Paradise had been dead for three weeks. The only thing keeping me from melting into a puddle on the linoleum was the industrial fan blowing hot air around and the fact that I spent half my shift sticking my hands in icy water while cleaning aquarium tanks.

"You missed a spot, Leo," Maya said from behind the counter. She was scrolling on her phone, probably checking TikTok while I scrubbed algae.

"I'm going on break," I muttered, peeling off my rubber gloves. My hands smelled like fish water and betrayal.

I slipped out back, sitting on the crate of fish food. This was supposed to be my summer job for extra cash before senior year, but mostly it was just me existing in a room full of swimming creatures that had it way better than I did. At least the goldfish didn't have to worry about college applications or why their crush only waved at them in the hallway but never responded to texts.

My mom had started me on these new vitamins that morning, saying I looked "peaky" whatever that meant. Probably because I'd spent the last month doom-scrolling through acceptance rates for NYU instead of sleeping.

The back door creaked open. Maya stood there, actually looking at me for once.

"Hey, your phone's been blowing up."

"Oh. Thanks."

"Also," she shifted her weight, "we're completely out of feeder fish. Some kid came in and bought, like, fifty of them. Said his turtle was 'living his best life.'"

I laughed before I could stop myself. Maya smiled, and something in my chest did that stupid fluttery thing.

"Want me to order more?"

"Nah, let them suffer. The fish, I mean. Not the turtle."

She sat on the crate next to me. Our shoulders brushed. The universe could have ended right there and I would have been fine with it.

"You know," she said, "my cousin goes to NYU. Says it's overrated anyway."

My heart skipped a beat. "Your cousin?"

"Yeah. She transferred after freshman year. Came home, said she missed..." Maya gestured vaguely at the strip mall, the shimmering heat rising off the asphalt, "I don't know. Real stuff."

A truck drove by, its bass vibrating through the ground.

"Anyway," she stood up, "cable's out at my place again. My parents are going insane without their news. Want to come over later? Order pizza, watch movies on my laptop?"

I think I forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Yeah," I managed. "Yeah, I'd like that."

She grinned. "Cool. Now get back inside, fish boy. Those angelfish aren't going to clean themselves."

I watched her go back inside, and for the first time all summer, the future didn't feel so heavy. Maybe that's what my mom meant about vitamins — not the ones in the bottle, but the ones that actually made you feel alive.