The Fox and the Goldfish

The first time Maya realized her friendship with Kai was dying, she was staring at his goldfish. Bubbles, a brilliant orange comet with fins like flowing silk, swam in endless circles around his bowl while Kai sat across from her, doom-scrolling through Instagram.

"Bro, did you hear what happened at Jake's party?" Kai said, not looking up. "Liam hooked up with Sarah. Everyone's saying he's such a player now."

Maya nodded, even though she hadn't been invited. Again. "Wild."

"Anyway, my mom said you could stay for dinner if you want. We're having papaya curry."

Maya's stomach did a little flip. Kai's mom made the best papaya curry, spicy and sweet with coconut milk that reminded her of summers in the Philippines. But something had shifted between them since freshman year started. Kai had joined varsity soccer and suddenly had cool friends. Maya had joined stage crew and developed an obsession with vintage sci-fi novels.

The screen door banged open. Kai's sister burst in, holding their dog, Buster, who was currently wearing a tiny red sweater.

"You'll never guess what," she announced. "Buster just chased a FOX down the street. An actual fox. In the suburbs."

Maya laughed. "No way."

"He looked so confused, like he couldn't believe another dog existed that was cooler than him." Kai finally looked up from his phone. "My dog tried to fight a fox. This is the most hype thing that's ever happened."

Maya watched Bubbles the goldfish swim another loop, memory supposedly three seconds long, though she'd read somewhere that was a myth. Fish could remember things for months. Which meant Bubbles had been swimming in these same circles, day after day, with full knowledge of his tiny kingdom.

"Hey," Maya said suddenly. "Remember when we made that clay fox in seventh grade art class? The one with the messed-up ear?"

Kai blinked. "Oh my god, yes. You kept it on your shelf for like, three years."

"Still have it."

"You're literally obsessed. That thing was cursed." Kai smiled, really smiled, and for a second Maya saw the boy who'd shared his papaya-stained lunch with her every day in middle school, who'd held her hand when her dog died, who'd promised they'd stay best friends forever even when high school tried to tear them apart.

The goldfish swam past.

"Dinner's ready!" Kai's mom called from the kitchen.

"Come on," Kai said, grabbing his backpack. "And yeah, we should hang out more. For real this time."

Maya followed him inside, smelling curry and papaya and something else—hope, maybe, or just the papaya-stained possibility that some circles don't have to be endless after all.