Sweaty Palms and Carnival Lights

Maya's palms were literally sweating through her denim shorts. This wasn't even the embarrassing part — that would come later.

"You're actually doing it?" Jordan asked, raising an eyebrow like it was the most cringe thing ever. Which, to be fair, it kinda was.

The carnival game guy with the suspicious mustache gestured to the tank of tiny goldfish swimming in circles. "Step right up! Win a prize for your lady friend!"

Maya facepalmed so hard she probably left a mark. "I'm not his— never mind."

Here's the thing about Jordan: they'd been best friend since sixth grade, when he accidentally spilled grape juice on her white jeans in the cafeteria and she didn't even cry. But lately everything felt different. Jordan was growing six inches a month, his voice was doing this weird cracking thing, and he kept looking at her like he was trying to solve a math problem.

"I got this," Jordan said, already missing his first shot.

Maya watched those goldfish swimming around, totally clueless about how close they were to becoming someone's carnival prize casualty. That was her, basically. Just swimming along, not realizing everything was about to change.

"Third time's the charm," Jordan insisted, handing over another crumpled dollar.

The game guy sighed. "Kid, you're zero for five."

"Just one more," Maya said, and her palm came out to cover Jordan's hand before she could think about it. "Let's just go."

Jordan froze. Actually froze. Like, full-body stillness. The carnival lights flickered overhead, casting everything in this weird pink glow that made the moment feel fake and hyper-real at the same time.

"Your hand," he said, sounding kind of strangled.

Maya snatched it back. "Right. Sorry. I meant— my hand was just being weird. I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's fine." Jordan turned back to the tank, threw his last ball, and somehow made the shot.

"NO WAY," Maya screamed, actually screamed, and didn't even care who saw.

The game guy looked vaguely disappointed as he scooped a goldfish into a plastic bag. "Congratulations, I guess."

They walked to the edge of the carnival grounds, Jordan carrying the bag like it contained something radioactive instead of a living creature.

"So," Maya said, kicking at a pebble. "What are you gonna name it?"

"You name it."

"Me?"

"Yeah. It's your fish."

Maya studied the goldfish swimming in lazy circles through the plastic. "Okay. His name is Captain Tiny Pants."

Jordan laughed — actually laughed, not his fake one. "That's the worst name ever."

"It's perfect, and you know it."

The sun was setting behind the carnival rides, painting everything in oranges and purples, and Maya's palms were sweating again but for a completely different reason now. Maybe change wasn't the worst thing. Maybe some things, like friendship, just got better instead of different.

"Hey, Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"Want to come over and help me set up the bowl? I have no idea what I'm doing."

Maya grinned. "Obviously. I'll be there. But I'm saying 'I told you so' when Captain Tiny Pants dies in three days."

"Deal."