The Goldfish Signal

Maya's palms were sweating. Like, actually dripping. She wiped them on her denim shorts for the third time, staring at Leo's front door. The house party was already vibrating through the wood — muffled laughter, bass from some playlist, the distinct sound of teenagers trying too hard.

"You good?" Jax asked, popping a piece of gum. "You look like you're about to puke."

"I'm fine," Maya lied. Her voice cracked. Lowkey embarrassing.

She wasn't fine. She'd been crushing on Leo since sixth period English started, and tonight she was finally gonna shoot her shot. Her rizz was nonexistent, but the heart wants what the heart wants, right?

Inside, the party was exactly what she expected. Red solo cups. People shouting over each other. Someone had spilled something on the carpet. Maya spotted Leo immediately, though — standing by the TV, disconnecting and reconnecting some cable while his friends watched.

"Bro, it's not working," one of them complained.

"The cable's janked," Leo said, frowning. "Someone stepped on it."

Maya's phone buzzed in her pocket. Her mom. Again. She'd forgotten to text that she'd arrived. Whatever.

She drifted toward the kitchen to get water, and that's when she saw it: a goldfish bowl on the counter, the lone fish swimming in slow, lonely circles.

"That's Gary," someone said behind her.

Maya jumped. It was Leo.

"Gary?" she asked, and her voice actually shook.

"Yeah. My sister won him at a carnival last year. None of us wanted him, so he's kind of... there. Looking at us. Judging."

Maya laughed, and it sounded weirdly genuine. "He's got main character energy."

"Right?" Leo smiled, and Maya's stomach did that annoying flip thing. "Hey, do you know anything about cables? The HDMI's being weird."

"Not really. My dad's the tech guy in our house. I just press random buttons until stuff works."

"Same honestly."

And then they were talking. Really talking. About nothing, about everything — about how they both hated group projects, about his cat who only liked him at 3 AM, about how she once accidentally called her teacher 'mom' in front of everyone. Time folded in on itself, weird and liquid, like the goldfish swimming through nothing.

Later, when the kitchen got too crowded, they found themselves sitting on the back patio. The air was finally cool. Maya's palms had stopped sweating ages ago.

"So," Leo said, looking at her sideways. "You having fun?"

Maya looked at him — really looked. The porch light made his hair look gold, like the fish, like something that could slip through her fingers if she squeezed too tight.

"Actually," she said, "yeah."

"Cool," he said. And then, after the longest silence: "Want to hang out tomorrow? Just us?"

Maya smiled so hard her face hurt. "Bet."

Inside, Gary the goldfish swam another slow circle, completely unimpressed by absolutely everything.