Operation Goldfish

My hair had decided to stage a rebellion overnight. One side stuck out like I'd been electrocuted, while the other lay flat against my skull in defeated surrender. Three months into freshman year, and I still couldn't figure out why everyone else made looking effortless look, well, effortless.

"You need to eat your spinach," Mom said, plopping a green monstrosity on my plate. "It's good for your brain."

"My brain is fine," I muttered, though my brain was currently 97% occupied with thinking about how to talk to Maya Chen without saying something incredibly awkward.

My phone buzzed. Group chat: THE SQUAD (me, Leo, and Priya).

Leo: DUDE. Maya just posted that she's going to the fall dance with Jason.

Priya: NOOOOO. Our ship has sunk before it even sailed.

Me: Whatever. Not like I was going to ask her anyway.

Total lie. I'd been practicing my speech in front of my goldfish, Bubbles, for two weeks. "Hey Maya, dance?" I'd say. Bubbles would swim to the top of his bowl and stare at me with what I assumed was judgment. You could do better, his fishy face seemed to say. You have zero rizz.

That night, I did something incredibly stupid. Something that felt genius at 2 AM but had CRINGE written all over it in retrospect.

I made a finsta. A fake Instagram to spy on Maya's posts without her knowing. call_me_fox_99 — because foxes were clever and mysterious, unlike regular me who was about as mysterious as a toaster.

For three days, I was the ultimate digital detective. I learned that Maya liked bubble tea, vintage band tees, and had three pet snails named after Harry Potter characters. I learned that she'd dyed her hair purple over summer and her parents had flipped. I learned way too much about someone I'd barely spoken to in real life.

Then came the disaster. Leo found out.

"Bro, that's creepy," he said, not unkindly. "Just talk to her. Maya's cool. She won't bite."

"I can't just—"

"You have more game than you think," Priya interrupted. "But this? This is giving 'stalker' energy. Delete the account. Then actually DM her from YOUR account. About something normal."

So I did. I deleted the fake account. Then I sat for twenty minutes typing and deleting a message to Maya until I finally sent: Hey, I saw you like The Smiths too. Have you heard their live cover of Sweet Jane?

She replied in three minutes.

OMG YES. That version is SO good. How did you know?

We talked for two hours. About music, about her hair dye adventure, about how her parents wanted her to eat more spinach too. It was easy. It was natural. It was nothing like talking to Bubbles.

The next day at school, Maya found me at my locker.

"Hey," she said, flipping her purple-streaked hair. "Thanks for the music rec. You should come to my band practice next Friday. We need someone who actually knows what they're doing."

I think I said something cool. Probably.

Later, Bubbles swam to the top of his bowl and I swear he winked. Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.