Goldfish Summer

The gummy **vitamin** sat on my tongue like a secret. Strawberry kiwi, the kind my mom bought in bulk from Costco because they were "good for growing bodies." Whatever that meant.

"You gonna eat that or just let it dissolve?" Sam asked, kicking his legs against my bedframe. His **hair** was that perfect messy-curly situation that happened without effort, unlike mine which required three products and prayer.

I swallowed the vitamin. "It's about the journey, man."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're so weird."

Weird was better than last year, when I was nobody. Summer after eighth grade, I was determined to reinvent myself. No more quiet Maya who sat in the back. This Maya would be bold. Interesting. Someone who people remembered.

So far, bold Maya had: cut her own bangs (disaster), lied about seeing an R-rated movie (successful until someone asked details), and won a **goldfish** at the county fair.

The goldfish, whom I'd named Sir Bubbles because I was fourteen and not creative, currently swam in a bowl on my dresser. It stared at me with that permanent open-mouthed expression that made everything seem profound.

"Do fish get lonely?" I asked.

Sam shrugged. "My **cat** would definitely say yes. Right before he ate it."

"Don't say that. Sir Bubbles has a rich inner life."

"You're projecting, Maya. Again."

Okay, maybe I was. But wasn't that what being fifteen was about? Projecting your mess onto something else until it made sense? The goldfish was just the latest victim of my existential crisis.

My phone buzzed. A group chat. Sarah's party Friday. Everyone was going. Everyone except me, because no one had invited me, and asking would be social suicide.

"You should just go," Sam said, reading over my shoulder. "Or ask someone to bring you."

"That's pathetic."

"What's pathetic is sitting here talking to a fish about your feelings."

Sir Bubbles did a little flip, like agreement.

"Fine. You come with me."

Sam's face lit up. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. But we're not showing up as friends. We show up as a package deal. Like, oh, we were already hanging out, decided to swing by, whatever."

"Cool detachment. I dig it."

"Total indifference to social approval."

"Natural. Effortless."

We high-fived. The vitamin, the bangs growing out, the goldfish that had already lived three days longer than expected—it was all adding up to something. Maybe not bold exactly. But something close enough.