The Goldfish Summer

The cable bill sat on the kitchen counter like a warning label. Mom's handwriting: WE NEED TO TALK.

I already knew what it meant. No more WiFi means no more streaming, no more Discord, and basically no more social life. The summer before junior year was supposed to be lit, not stuck in the digital Stone Age.

"You could, like, get a job," Maya said when I complained about it. She was my best friend since sixth grade, back when we both thought coordinating neon outfits was the height of fashion.

"Thanks for the solid advice," I said. "But I'm busy."

Busy meaning avoiding the reality that Maya and I were drifting apart like ripples in a pool. She'd joined the softball team—basically baseball but with a smaller ball and apparently way more social clout. Meanwhile, I was still the same girl who'd won a goldfish at the spring fair and named it Neptune despite it being, you know, a fish.

Neptune swam in his bowl on my desk, living his best fish life while mine was falling apart. Maya spent all summer at the field, making inside jokes with teammates who wore their jerseys to parties like it was high fashion.

The cable situation forced me out of the house. I started going to the community pool where the popular kids hung out. Classic move, I know—awkward girl crashes the cool scene. But something weird happened: I started talking to people. Real conversations, not just liking posts and replying with fire emojis.

Maya showed up one day, still in her uniform. We sat by the pool's edge, legs dangling in the water.

"I miss you," she said suddenly. "Being on the team is cool but it's not us hanging out."

"Neptune misses you too," I said. "Probably."

She laughed, and just like that, we were us again.

That night, I told Mom she could cut the cable. I'd rather hang out with Maya by the pool anyway. Neptune did a little flip in his bowl like he approved.

Some things change. Some things stay the same. And sometimes, you need to lose your WiFi to find your connection.