The Goldfish Monologues

Maya stared at the bowl on her desk. Inside, Goldie—the last birthday gift from her ex-best-friend Chloe—swam in endless circles, its orange scales catching the afternoon light. The water had grown cloudy over the past three weeks, much like Maya's social life since the fight.

"You're pathetic," she whispered to the fish. "At least you have an excuse. You're literally trapped in a bowl."

Her phone buzzed. A text from Leo: *party at Jax's tonight. You coming?*

Maya's thumb hovered. She hadn't been to a party since the Incident—that's what everyone called it now, capital I. The night she'd had one too many fruity vitamin drinks and confessed her crush to Chloe's boyfriend in front of everyone. The next morning, Chloe had blocked her on everything, and Maya had become the person people avoided in hallways.

The cafeteria at lunch was a minefield. She'd started taking her meals outside, sitting on the grass where nobody could see her crying over her cold spinach salad while watching her former friend group laugh at their inside jokes.

Goldie bumped its nose against the glass.

"Fine," Maya said. "Fine."

She called Leo. "I'll come."

The party was loud, the air thick with cheap cologne and bass vibrating through the floorboards. Maya grabbed a water—just water—and tried to look like she belonged. She found Leo by the snacks, wearing that stupid dinosaur hoodie he refused to retire.

"You came," he said, like it meant something.

"I came."

They ended up on Jax's back porch, surrounded by red solo cups and someone's failed attempt at growing tomatoes. Maya told him about Goldie, about how she kept forgetting to feed it because what was the point, really?

"Fish are weird," Leo said. "They don't even know they're in a bowl. They think it's the whole ocean."

Maya looked at him. "That's literally the most depressing thing anyone has ever said to me."

He laughed. "I mean it as, like, hopeful? Maybe we're all just swimming in circles thinking it's everything, and there's actually a whole world out there."

Maya's chest felt weirdly light. "You're so weird."

"I know." He grinned. "Hey, can I see Goldie sometime?"

"Only if you bring better fish food. The stuff I have is probably expired."

Inside, someone put on that song everyone obsessed over last month. Maya stood up. "Want to go back inside? I think I can handle it now."

Leo's hand brushed hers as they walked through the screen door. Not grabbing it, just brushing. But it was enough.

The next morning, Maya cleaned Goldie's bowl properly for the first time in weeks. The water cleared. The fish swam faster. And when her phone buzzed with a text from Chloe—*saw you at the party. looked happy*—Maya took a breath and typed back: *i was.*

Then she deleted it, blocked the number, and poured fresh food into the bowl. Some oceans were meant to be outgrown.