The Goldfish Monologues

Maya's throat felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton balls. Three floors below, the cafeteria buzzed with the terrifying energy of 500 teenagers simultaneously deciding where to sit. But up here, in her room, she had something more important to do.

"Finn, you've been staring at me for twenty minutes. It's creepy."

Her goldfish, won freshman year at homecoming after Jake Henderson guessed her weight wrong (twice), continued his blank-stare assault against the glass. Fine. If Finn could handle life in a two-gallon prison with zero personal space, she could survive giving a presentation about vitamin deficiencies in AP Bio.

Her phone buzzed. Lila: *if u dont come down, im telling everyone u still sleep with a teddy bear*

Maya groaned. So much for moral support. Last night, Lila had spent two hours helping her rehearse, making dramatic hand gestures and practically shouting "CONFIDENCE IS A VITAMIN" until Maya's mom pounded on the ceiling. Now? betrayal.

The truth was, Maya didn't sleep with a teddy bear. She slept with a bear-shaped stress ball that her sister had given her before moving to college, and somehow Lila had turned this into leverage.

She grabbed the bottle of vitamin D supplements from her desk. Her doctor said she needed them because apparently existing indoors wasn't how humans were supposed to live. The bear stress ball, Finn's judgmental fish-face, and now public speaking—she was collecting anxiety like some twisted hobby.

Her phone again: *jk jk BUT SRSLY come down we're doing the thing today*

"The thing." The student council elections. The thing Maya had somehow let Lila talk her into, despite the fact that she got visibly nervous ordering pizza. The thing that required standing on stage and talking to everyone who'd ever seen her awkwardly trip up the main stairs.

Finn did a little flip, his orange scales catching the morning light. ridiculous. This fish had more confidence than she did, and his brain was the size of a pea.

Maya stood up. "Fine, Finn. I'm going. But you're missing out."

She grabbed the bear from her bed, shoved it in her backpack (just in case), and headed for the door. Time to bear down, own her awkwardness, and maybe—just maybe—realize that everyone was too busy worrying about themselves to notice her shaking hands.

Besides, she'd literally given a speech about vitamins. How hard could politics be?