Goldfish Tears at Home Plate

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she could practically fill a swimming pool. Not that anyone would notice. Not when Jake Torres was standing five feet away, looking like he'd just walked off a baseball card.

"You coming to the game Friday?" Jake asked, leaning against the bleachers like he owned them.

"Maybe," Maya managed, her voice doing this weird squeaky thing that made her want to die. "If I don't have too much homework."

Lie. Complete lie. She had zero homework and had already circled Friday's game on her phone calendar with three different emojis.

Jake grinned. "You should. I'm starting pitcher. Finally got moved up from JV."

"That's awesome!" The enthusiasm came out too loud. Too eager. Classic Maya move: swinging for the fences and striking out embarrassingly.

The conversation died after that. Jake said something about practice and wandered off toward the baseball diamond, where his teammates were already warming up. Maya watched him go, feeling like the world's most awkward human being.

Her phone buzzed. Mom: [How was the carnival? Did you win anything?]

Maya looked down at the plastic bag in her hand. Inside, a tiny goldfish swam in circles, completely unaware that it had just been won by the most uncool person in existence. She'd spent twenty dollars trying to land that ping-pong ball on the correct bowl. Twenty dollars she didn't really have, all because she'd wanted to impress Jake with her carnival skills.

Instead, she'd missed every single shot until the carnie took pity on her and just handed over a fish.

[Got a fish,] she texted back. [Naming him Roger.]

Roger the goldfish looked at her with his weird fishy eyes. Maya sighed.

"Well, Roger," she said aloud. "At least one of us got lucky today."

A breeze drifted past, carrying the smell of popcorn and the distant crack of baseball bats connecting with balls. Maya adjusted her grip on Roger's bag. Her palms were still sweaty, her social life was still a disaster, and she was now responsible for keeping a living creature alive.

But as she watched Jake pitch from across the field, his motions smooth and confident, Maya smiled. Maybe next time, she'd actually manage to say something cool. Or at least something that didn't make her face burn for three hours afterward.

Baby steps.

Roger swam another circle. Maya headed home, goldfish in hand, already planning her outfit for Friday's game.