The Goldfish Graveyard

The water stared back at me—well, technically it was the gross pool water at the Hartman's end-of-summer blowout, but it felt like the universe was watching. I was fourteen and convinced my social life was already over.

"Yo Maya, you gonna jump or what?" Tyler yelled from the diving board. Tyler, whose absurdly perfect hair somehow survived every cannonball.

"Yeah, yeah, give me a sec."

I wasn't scared of the water. I was scared of what happened AFTER—when everyone would see my mom's old one-piece, the one with the weird pattern that looked like a confused goldfish had exploded on it.

Behind me, Jordan tapped my shoulder. "Hey, you good?"

Jordan. My best friend since third grade, who now moved in entirely different circles. The circles that didn't involve fish-patterned swimwear or being known as the weird girl who still collected rocks.

"Just... thinking about my fish," I lied.

"Your fish?"

"Mr. Glitters. He died. I'm in mourning."

Jordan's face softened in that way that made my stomach do this weird lightning-bolt thing. "I'm sorry, Maya. That's... actually really sad."

"It's fine. He had a good run."

"My bear—that stuffed one from when I was five—my little brother chewed its arm off last week," Jordan said quietly. "I acted like it wasn't a big deal, but I lowkey cried about it."

I stared. Jordan, who effortlessly navigated the cafeteria hierarchy like it was nothing, had cried over a stuffed bear?

"Wait, you still have your bear?"

"His name is Barnaby. Don't judge."

"I would never." I paused. "Mr. Glitters is buried in a Tupperware under the maple tree in my backyard. With proper ceremony."

Jordan burst out laughing. And then, because the universe had perfect timing, Tyler's cousin accidentally pushed Tyler off the diving board, sending him sprawling into the water with the MOST ungraceful splash in history.

Jordan grabbed my arm. "Maya, did you see that?!"

Everyone was laughing—even the seniors. Tyler's perfect hair was plastered to his forehead, and his dignity was floating somewhere in the deep end.

"Jordan?" I asked. "Want to see something kind of pathetic?"

"Always."

I pulled out my phone and showed them the photo of Mr. Glitters's grave, complete with a tiny cross made of twigs and a note that said YOU WERE A GOOD BOY.

"No way," Jordan said, eyes wide. "This is... honestly? Respect."

"Your turn. Show me Barnaby."

Jordan sighed, defeated, and scrolled to a photo of a very battered, one-armed teddy bear. "His name is Barnaby. He's seen some things."

"Barnaby the Survivor."

"Exactly."

We sat on the edge of the pool while chaos erupted behind us—Tyler challenging someone to a cannonball contest, music blaring, people shouting dares. For the first time all summer, I didn't feel like I was faking it.

"Hey," Jordan said, nudging me. "Next time, I'll help you upgrade Mr. Glitters's setup. Like, maybe some flowers? A tiny headstone?"

"Only if Barnaby gets a warrior ceremony. He earned it."

"Deal." Jordan stood up. "Now, are we doing this or what? Because if we don't jump soon, Tyler's gonna recover and then NO ONE will ever shut up about it."

I looked at the water, at Jordan, at the ridiculous party that had somehow become the setting for the most real conversation I'd had in months.

"Race you," I said.

"You're on."

We jumped at the same time. The water was cold, perfect, and filled with the echoes of our laughter.