The Goldfish Summer

I wasn't supposed to be at Tyler's party. Definitely wasn't supposed to be hiding in his bathroom, hyperventilating because someone spilled bright ORANGE soda on my new white sneakers.

"You okay in there?" a voice called through the door.

I froze. It was Maya—the girl who sat behind me in English, the one who always wore those vintage band tees and seemed too cool for anxiety attacks.

"Yeah," I lied. "Just fixing my makeup."

The door creaked open anyway. Maya leaned against the frame, holding a tiny plastic bag filled with water. Inside, a single GOLDFISH swam in lazy circles.

"Tyler's mom made him do those carnival games," she said, rolling her eyes. "Now we're all stuck with these poor guys. Want one?"

I stared at her. "You're giving me a fish?"

"I'm giving you a FRIEND." She grinned, pushing the bag toward me. "His name is Bubbles. He's a good listener."

Something about her deadpan delivery made me laugh for the first time all night.

Mayya slid down to sit beside me on the tiled floor. "Parties are overwhelming, right? Like, why do we do this to ourselves?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I think FOMO is real, though."

"Totally." She tapped the plastic bag. "Bubbles here doesn't have FOMO. Bubbles is living his best life in two inches of water."

We sat there for twenty minutes while the party thumped downstairs. I told her about my anxiety, and she confessed she'd only come because her crush was supposed to show up (he didn't). We bonded over shared awkwardness and the absurdity of high school social dynamics.

"Hey," Maya said as the party started winding down. "You wanna get out of here? We could go to Taco Bell."

I looked at my orange-stained sneakers, then at the goldfish swimming calmly in his bag, and finally at Maya—this unexpected friend who'd seen me at my lowest and stayed anyway.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd really like that."

That summer, Bubbles the goldfish lived in a bowl on my windowsill, a reminder that sometimes the best moments happen when you stop performing and start just... being. And Maya? She's still my friend. We don't go to parties much anymore. But we make excellent Taco Bell runs.