Goldfish Summer

Maya's iPhone buzzed in her hand, another notification from the group chat. The pool party was already trending, apparently. She stood by the edge of Jake's pool, watching the social pyramid form itself naturally—Jake at the top with hisperfect hair and effortless charisma, the rest of us orbiting below like satellites desperate for gravitational pull.

"You gonna post that?" Chloe asked, nodding at Maya's phone. Maya had been documenting everything: the filtered selfies, the aesthetic shots of snacks, even the water shimmering under fairy lights. Her goldfish attention span couldn't focus on one conversation for more than thirty seconds before checking her screen again.

Maya's dog, Buster, was swimming awkwardly toward her—Golden Retrievers weren't built for grace, but enthusiasm made up for it. He'd been everyone's emotional support animal all night, sensing whoever needed a good nuzzle.

"My mom says goldfish only have seven-second memories," Maya said suddenly, watching Buster paddle through the chlorinated water. "Sometimes I feel like that's us. Swipe, forget. Swipe, forget. We're all just waiting for the next notification."

Chloe looked at her phone, then slipped it into her pocket. "I dare you to put yours away for an hour."

The challenge hung in the humid summer air like something fragile and precious.

Maya hesitated. Her entire social existence was on that device. But then she noticed Jake—actual Jake, not Instagram Jake—struggling to help his little sister with her goggles. The pyramid seemed less important from down here at water level.

She set her iPhone on the patio table, screen down, like setting down a weapon. The world didn't end. The party kept spinning. She jumped into the pool, chlorine stinging her eyes, Buster's excited barking in her ears, and for the first time all night, Maya was actually there.

"You're missing the group chat," Jake said later, dripping wet and somehow still annoyingly good-looking.

Maya grinned. "Let them trend without me."