The Goldfish Prophecy

Maya's curls were doing that thing again—rebelling against humidity, social norms, and apparently her entire existence. She tugged at a frizzy coil, wishing she'd just worn the damn beanie despite the ninety-degree heat.

"Dude, your hair is literally a vibe," said Jake, which was exactly the kind of meaningless compliment that meant he was about to suggest something questionable.

"Wanna get your palm read? Apparently Chloe's cousin took a workshop on TikTok and she's, like, totally psychic now."

Maya's palm was sweaty against her solo cup. She'd only come to this party because her best friend begged, and now she was stuck between the kitchen and some girl named Brittany's "mystical zone" setup in the laundry room. But Jake was already steering her toward the folding table draped in a scarf that was definitely from Target.

"Your love line shows... complications," Brittany pronounced dramatically, gesturing to the plastic grocery bag containing the goldfish someone had won at the carnival earlier. It swam in frantic circles, flashing orange in the string lights.

"That fish has been in that bag for three hours," Maya blurted out, suddenly furious on behalf of a goldfish she'd never met. "That's actually animal cruelty."

Everyone stared at her. The goldfish pressed its nose against the plastic, making fish lips.

Maya did the most unhinged thing she'd ever done. She marched to the kitchen sink, found a spare mixing bowl, and transferred the fish like she was conducting a hostage rescue. "You're free now, buddy."

"Did you just liberate a carnival fish?" someone asked from the doorway. It was Alex from her bio class, holding pizza rolls and looking at her like she'd grown a second head but in a... not terrible way?

"His name is Steve," Maya said, because suddenly it mattered. "And he deserves better than a Target bag."

Alex smiled. Actually smiled. "Wanna help me steal him some proper food? I think my mom has fish pellets from when my brother had that tank phase."

And that was how Maya ended up at Alex's house at midnight, both of them crouched by a repurposed aquarium, watching Steve do laps.

"Your hair's actually kinda perfect," Alex said.

Maya caught her reflection in the glass—frizzy, defiant, maybe a little chaotic. Just like her night.

"Yeah," she said. "I guess it is."