The Goldfish Theory

Marcus stood at the edge of the rooftop party, clutching his **iPhone** like it was a shield against actual human interaction. His **dog**, Barnaby—a chaos creature of the terrier variety—had already escaped three times tonight and was currently attempting to befriend someone's very expensive appetizer spread.

"You look like you're calculating your escape route," said a voice beside him.

Marcus jumped. It was Zara, the girl from AP Bio who always sat in the back row. She was holding a suspiciously familiar frayed charging **cable**.

"I was," Marcus admitted. "Parties are my natural habitat. Said no extrovert ever."

"Same." She held up the cable. "My phone died two minutes ago. I was literally about to throw myself off this roof rather than make small talk with random juniors."

Barnaby chose that moment to sprint past them, someone's stolen chicken wing in his mouth, like a fuzzy, treasonous lightning bolt.

"That's your dog, isn't it?" Zara asked, already laughing.

"Unfortunately. We're bonded by mutual shame."

"I have a theory," she said, as they both watched Barnaby get cornered by a very determined sixth grader. "Goldfish have a three-second memory. Dogs have zero. That's why they can do the most embarrassing stuff and just... keep living their best lives. Zero shame. Forever."

Marcus felt something in his chest untwist. "I wish I had goldfish memory. I'm still cringing about that thing I said in seventh period."

"What thing?"

"Exactly."

They stood there for a minute, watching the Barnaby Situation unfold, and Marcus realized he wasn't calculating his exit anymore. He handed her his portable charger. She didn't say thank you, but the way she immediately plugged in her phone said everything.

"Hey," she said, her phone screen flickering to life. "Wanna go rescue your dog before he steals someone's entire charcuterie board?"

"Only if you help."

"Deal. But I'm taking credit for the save."

Some parties, Marcus thought as they walked toward the chaos, weren't about escaping. Sometimes they were about finding someone who understood that the scariest thing wasn't being alone—it was being seen, and not running away from it.