The Goldfish Monologue

Maya's hair refused to cooperate that morning. She'd spent forty-five minutes trying to tame the frizz, only to end up with something that resembled a bird's nest more than the effortless waves she'd seen on TikTok. Her iPhone pinged with another notification — someone had posted photos from Friday's party. The ones where she stood alone by the snack table, clutching a red Solo cup like it was a lifeline.

"You good?" Her mom appeared in the doorway, holding one of those horse-sized vitamin pills she swore by. "You've been in here forever."

"Fine," Maya lied, shoving her phone into her pocket before her mom could see the screen. The irony wasn't lost on her — she had 500 Instagram followers but felt like she had zero real friends.

She retreated to her room, where Bruce the goldfish swam lazy circles in his bowl. He'd been her carnival prize two summers ago, back when she thought winning a goldfish was the coolest thing that could happen to a person. Now he just stared at her with his googly eyes, probably wondering why she was so dramatic.

"At least you don't have to deal with bull," she told him, dropping onto her bed. The school's mascot, a mechanical bull named "Buster," was supposed to make appearances at pep rallies. Someone had posted a video of it malfunctioning and bucking off the principal. It was supposed to be funny, but Maya just felt bad for everyone involved.

Her phone buzzed again. A DM from Alex, the guy she'd been crushing on since September: "Saw what happened at the party Friday. You okay?"

Maya's heart did that stupid fluttery thing. She'd been so sure everyone had been laughing at her social awkwardness. Maybe Alex had actually been... worried?

She typed and deleted three responses before settling on: "Yeah, just tired lol. Thanks for checking."

Bruce swam to the front of his bowl and blew a bubble. Maya laughed, genuinely laughed, for the first time that morning. Maybe tomorrow she'd finally post that photo of herself — the real one, with the hair that wouldn't behave and the smile that was actually hers. Maybe that was enough.