The Goldfish Signal

Maya's mom was going through her 'exotic fruit phase,' which meant their kitchen counter looked like a tropical rainforest explosion. The papaya sat there, neon orange and impossibly large, watching Maya like it knew her deepest secrets.

"Eat something healthy before you disappear into your room," her mom called out.

Maya grabbed the papaya and retreated. Not because she wanted it—she'd rather eat literally anything else—but because it was easier than explaining why her chest felt like it was collapsing every time her phone buzzed.

The message was still there: *party at Jordan's. u coming?*

Jordan, who'd barely acknowledged her existence since seventh grade, suddenly noticing her existence now that they were sophomores and the social hierarchy had decided to reshuffle itself like some cosmic deck of cards.

In her room, the HDMI cable hung loose from her monitor, swaying slightly from the ceiling fan's breeze. She'd been meaning to fix it for weeks, but somehow the loose connection felt like a metaphor she couldn't quite articulate. Everything felt disconnected lately—her friends, her interests, the person she was supposed to be versus the one she actually was.

Her goldfish, Señor Fin, stared at her through the glass bowl.

"What do you think?" she asked him. "Should I go?"

Señor Fin did his signature move: a complete rotation, then a decisive poop.

"Thanks. Super helpful."

The papaya on her desk had become an unintentional centerpiece. Her best friend, Jia, had FaceTimed earlier and said, "Why do you have a papaya? Are you okay?" like it was some sort of cry for help. Maybe it was.

Maya's fingers hovered over her phone. The party started in twenty minutes. Jordan would be there. So would half the soccer team, and the girls who somehow made everything look effortless, and the boy she'd had a crush on since September who didn't know she existed.

Or she could stay here, eat this weird papaya, and watch comfort movies until her eyes burned.

The HDMI cable swung again. A loose connection. Something that needed fixing but wasn't quite broken.

*Sometimes you have to be the one to plug it back in,* her dad would say, probably talking about actual cables, but also accidentally being wise.

Maya grabbed a spoon, dug into the papaya, and took a bite. Not terrible. Not amazing. Just... new. Different. Something she'd never tried before because she'd assumed she wouldn't like it.

She typed back: *yeah. omw.*

Her chest still felt tight. But sometimes, she decided, you do things anyway. Señor Fin did another victory lap. The papaya sat half-eaten on her desk, neon orange and impossibly brave. Some signals you just had to trust.