The Goldfish in the Padel Court

Maya's third-day-of-school hat wasn't working. The beanie was supposed to hide the disaster that was her hair—her mom had somehow convinced her that "layers would be fun," but now she looked like a poodle that lost a fight with a lawnmower.

"You coming to padel tryouts?" Jake asked, sliding into the cafeteria seat beside her. His hair was perfect, naturally messy in that way that made Maya want to scream.

She'd been crushing on Jake since orientation, when he'd helped her pick up her dropped schedule and smiled like he actually meant it. "Maybe. I'm not really sporty."

"You're tall. You've got reach. That's half the battle." He gestured at her lunch. "What's that?"

"Papaya. My mom's going through this 'tropical phase' with packed lunches." Maya poked at it suspiciously. "I think it's plotting against me."

Jake laughed, and Maya's stomach did that annoying fluttery thing. "Try it. I dare you."

She took a bite, made a face, and—naturally—choked. Papaya went everywhere. Including on Jake's jersey. Including on the floor, where the cafeteria was suddenly way too quiet.

Maya's face burned hotter than the sun. She mumbled an apology and fled, leaving Jake to clean up her tropical disaster.

The girls' bathroom became her sanctuary. She stared at herself in the mirror, hat in hand, hair frizzy and ridiculous. Why did she even try? She wasn't sporty. She wasn't smooth. She was just awkward Maya with her papaya problems and bad haircuts.

Then she noticed it—a small plastic bag on the counter by the sink. Inside, a goldfish swam in tiny circles, alone.

Somebody left their goldfish in the bathroom? Who does that?

Maya found herself talking to it. "Well, at least I'm not literally stuck in a bag."

The goldfish seemed to judge her. Fair enough.

"You know what?" she said, pulling her beanie back on. "Screw it."

She walked to the padel courts, hat off, hair wild. Jake was there, wearing a different shirt.

"About time," he said, grinning. "Bring your own racquet?"

"Nope. But I brought my A-game."

"We'll see about that." He tossed her a racquet. "By the way, your hair looks better without the hat."

Maya caught the racquet and smiled. Maybe she didn't have to be perfect. Maybe she could just be Maya—papaya incidents, bad hair days, and all.

And somewhere in that bathroom, a goldfish swam on, completely unimpressed by her character development.