The Goldfish Protocol

Maya pressed her back against the PE lockers, heart hammering like she'd been caught red-handed instead of just lurking. Which she was. But lurking sounded better than spying, and definitely better than staring at Savannah's orange Converse from behind a fake coughing fit for the third time this week.

"Whatever," she muttered to herself. "I'm conducting research."

Her phone buzzed. Mom again: Did you feed the fish?

Maya sighed. Being the new girl at Ridgeview High was exhausting enough without also being sole caretaker of Barnaby, her sister's college-leave goldfish who'd somehow survived three years of neglect. She typed back: Done. (Lie. She'd do it after school.)

The orange shoes moved. Maya held her breath.

Savannah Flores walked past with her squad—Imani, Chloe, and what's-her-name who always wore the scrunchie. They were laughing at something, heads tilted together like they shared a wavelength that mere mortals couldn't access. Savannah's hair was up in that messy-but-perfect bun. Her backpack had those little keychains everyone seemed to have except Maya.

Maya had researched Savannah's Instagram for two hours last night. She knew her favorite boba order, her dog's name (Peanut), and that she played volleyball but didn't actually like it that much.

Creepy? Maybe. But Maya preferred thorough.

"Hey."

Maya practically jumped out of her skin.

Savannah stood there, alone. The squad had vanished down the hall. She wasn't looking at Maya with the usual polite-but-I-don't-really-know-you expression. She was looking like she was waiting for something.

"You're Maya, right? From English?"

"Uh. Yeah. Hi."

"You figured out the trick to Mr. Harrison's essays," Savannah said. "The thing about the thesis statements being able to stand alone as complete sentences? You shared it with Jamie, and he told me."

Maya blinked. "Oh. Yeah, I guess."

"I need help with the literary analysis due Friday," Savannah said, and then something shifted in her face. The confidence faltered, just for a second. "If you're not busy. I mean, I know you probably have stuff—"

"I'm not busy," Maya said, maybe too quickly. "I can help."

Savannah's smile was genuine. "Thanks. You're literally saving my life."

Later, sitting at Maya's kitchen table with an open copy of The Great Gatsby between them, Savannah wrinkled her nose.

"Okay, but Gatsby is literally just a rich stalker," she said. "Why are we supposed to admire him again?"

Maya snorted. "Right? He's got millions and can't just send Daisy a normal text like a normal person."

"He needed to get a hobby," Savannah agreed. "Like, take up fishing or something. Leave the poor woman alone."

"Or get a goldfish."

"What?"

"A goldfish," Maya said. "People say they have three-second memories, right? So a goldfish would forget everything. No angst, no drama. Just swimming. Honestly? Goals."

Savannah laughed, and it wasn't the polished laugh she gave her friends. It was messy and unexpected.

"You're funny," she said. "How did I not know you were funny?"

Maya shrugged, feeling something warm and unfamiliar in her chest. "I've been pretty quiet."

"Well, don't be," Savannah said. "It's annoying."

Maya's phone buzzed on the table. Mom again: Barnaby looks sad. FEED HIM.

Savannah glanced at the screen. "Barnaby?"

"My sister's goldfish. She left him with me when she went to college and somehow he's not dead yet, which feels like an achievement." Maya paused. "You want to see him?"

"I would love to see Barnaby," Savannah said solemnly.

They stood in front of the fishbowl in Maya's room, watching the tiny orange fish drift through the water like he had nowhere better to be.

"He's just... vibing," Savannah observed. "I respect it."

"That's what I said!" Maya said. "No overthinking. No obsessing over what people think. Just swimming in circles and eating flakes."

"Sounds peaceful," Savannah said, and then she looked at Maya with that expression again—searching, like she was looking for something specific. "You know, I've seen you watching me sometimes."

Maya's stomach dropped. "Oh. I—"

"I thought maybe you hated me," Savannah continued. "Or thought I was stuck-up or something. But you're just observant, aren't you?"

"I'm... thorough," Maya managed.

Savavenport smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. "Well, I'm glad you're thorough. Because otherwise I'd still be failing English."

Maya looked at the goldfish, then at Savannah, then back at the fish.

"You know what," she said. "I think Barnaby would approve."

"Barnaby seems like a good judge of character," Savannah agreed.

And for the first time since she'd moved to Ridgeview three months ago, Maya didn't feel like she was spying from the outside. She felt like someone who might actually belong.

Which was scary. But also kind of awesome.

"Same time next week?" Savannah asked at the door.

"Yeah," Maya said. "Same time."

She watched Savannah walk away, orange Conese bright against the sidewalk, and Barnaby swam in another lazy circle behind her.

Three-second memory, huh.

Some things were worth remembering.