Goldfish Truths

Maya's fingers flew across her iPhone screen at dinner, the familiar glow lighting up her face under the table. Her cousins laughed about something—she wasn't paying attention. She was too busy being the family's designated historian slash investigator slash honestly, just nosy.

"Maya, mija, eat your papaya," her abuela called from the kitchen.

"Coming, Abuela," she lied, returning to her mission. Someone had changed the family group chat name to "The Castillo Chronicles (Ask Me About The Incident Of 2019)" and nobody was talking about it. The only person who knew the truth was Tía Sofía, and she lived three states away.

Maya's little cousin Leo darted past, chasing the family's goldfish in a glass bowl that definitely should've been stationary. "Leo! Be careful with Bubbles!"

"I'm not! I'm showing him the pool!"

"NO—"

But Leo had already dumped the entire goldfish into the backyard pool. Because of course he had.

Maya jumped up, abandoning her iPhone on the table, and sprinted outside. The California heat hit her like a wall. There, floating helplessly in the deep end, was Bubbles, doing absolutely nothing goldfish were supposed to do.

"He's swimming!" Leo cheered.

"He's not swimming, he's contemplating his life choices," Maya muttered, wading into the cool water. Her favorite sandals soaked through immediately. Worth it.

As she scooped up the fish with a nearby net, her phone buzzed on the patio table. A notification from someone she'd been low-key waiting for all summer: Ethan, the cute lifeguard from the community pool.

"Hey saw your story. That goldfish rescue was iconic lol"

Maya froze, waist-deep in the pool, holding a traumatized fish in a net. She'd been exposed. Not as a cool teenager with mysterious vibes, but as the girl who rescued goldfish at family parties while eating papaya and getting her outfit ruined.

But then Ethan sent another message. "Seriously though. That was actually really kind of you. Most people wouldn't have jumped in."

Maya smiled, dripping pool water onto the concrete. Sometimes being yourself was dorky. And sometimes, dorky was exactly the right vibe.