The Goldfish Protocol

Maya had named him Captain Finners. It was a terrible name, objectively, but her pet goldfish had been there through every panic attack, every skipped party, every Friday night she'd spent doom-scrolling instead of actually living.

"Current status," she whispered to the bowl on her dresser. "Operation Survive Jordan Martinez's Pool Party: T-minus two hours."

Captain Finners did a little swirl, unimpressed.

Maya's sister Chloe appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Are you talking to your fish again? It's weird, Maya."

"I'm not weird," Maya said, adjusting her swimsuit straps for the fifteenth time. "I'm building emotional intelligence. Also, get out of my room."

She'd been conducting recon on Jordan's party for weeks. Not like a creep, or at least not *entirely* like a creep. Just strategic observation. From what she'd gathered through casual Instagram stories and overheard lunch-table whispers, the party would have at least forty people, actual music, and zero awkward silence zones. Exactly Maya's nightmare.

Her phone buzzed. Group chat: *r u coming???*

Maya stared at the screen. Her thumbs hovered.

*yea omw*

The lie felt surprisingly good. Like she was someone who actually said things like "omw" without overthinking it.

When she arrived, the backyard was already transformed. Strings of lights everywhere, the pool glowing with some underwater LED system, people she'd known since middle school acting like this was completely normal behavior. Maya positioned herself near the snack table, strategically close enough to the water that she looked involved but not close enough that anyone would expect her to actually swim.

She felt like a spy observing an alien species. Watch them in their natural habitat, she thought. The Popularus Teenagerus.

Then Jordan himself splashed out of the pool, water dripping from his hair like he was in a shampoo commercial. Why did teenage boys always look like they'd just stepped off a movie set? It was annoying.

"Maya!" he said, like he was actually excited to see her. "You made it."

"Yeah," she managed. "Cool party."

"Only because you're here."

He said it so easily, so casually, and Maya's brain short-circuited. This was not in the recon data.

Someone screamed. A beach ball nailed Jordan in the back of the head. He laughed, grabbed Maya's wrist, and pulled her toward the pool. "Come on. I need backup."

The water was cold enough to make her gasp, but somehow she was laughing too. For the first time since elementary school, Maya wasn't watching from the edges. She was in it. She was part of it.

Later that night, dripping and exhausted, she whispered to Captain Finners: "Mission accomplished. Also, I think Jordan might like me."

The goldfish did another swirl.

"Yeah," Maya said. "Me too."