The Hat, The Fish, and Everything After

The beanie was already itching my scalp, but I refused to take it off. Mom had bought it thinking it was cool—this navy blue monstrosity with a fake fuzzy pom-pom on top. But it was my armor tonight. My first house party since transferring schools, and I was practically vibrating with anxiety.

"You good, Maya?" Leo asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. He was the only person I actually knew here, and technically we'd only been friends for two weeks. Best friends, apparently, according to him. I wasn't used to that—friendships happening fast, people saying what they meant.

"Fine," I lied, adjusting my hat. "Just... observing."

He laughed. "You're not observing. You're hiding."

He wasn't wrong. The kitchen was packed with people shouting over music that was somehow too loud and too quiet at the same time. Someone had set up a goldfish bowl on the counter—one of those carnival prizes, complete with a sad orange fish swimming in tight circles. The fish kept bumping into the glass, over and over, like it couldn't figure out why it kept hitting a wall.

"That fish, though," Leo said, following my gaze. "RIP, little guy."

"Why'd you even bring him?"

"My sister won him. Asked me to hold him while she went to find her friend. Said it was important." He shrugged. "You gonna tell me what's actually wrong with you tonight?"

I hesitated. I'd been meaning to tell him about my anxiety—how I overthought everything, how I felt like everyone else had gotten some manual on how to be a teenager that I'd missed. But the words stuck in my throat.

"It's just... I feel like I'm faking it," I finally said. "Like everyone else knows what they're doing, and I'm just pretending."

Leo studied me for a second, then reached over and adjusted my stupid hat, tilting it sideways. "First off, nobody knows what they're doing. We're all just messing around and hoping nobody notices. And second?"

He gestured at the goldfish.

"That fish is literally just swimming in circles and it's fine. You're gonna be fine too, Maya."

I snorted. "Did you just compare me to a carnival fish?"

"I absolutely did." He grinned, and I felt something in my chest loosen. "Now come on. My sister's friend never showed up, so apparently we're taking this fish home."

"We're what now?"

"Team fish transport, Maya. Get with the program."

I adjusted my hat—for the first time tonight, not because I was nervous, but because it was actually crooked. "Fine. But if he dies, it's on you."

"Deal."

Outside, the air was cold enough to see my breath. I could hear someone in the distance—probably drunk—shouting something about bears. Probably some joke about being drunk as... well, a bear. But I didn't care. I walked beside Leo, carrying a fishbowl with a fish who had no idea where he was going, with a friend who'd somehow noticed I was struggling without me saying a word.

The fish swam beside my face in the bowl, and I swear it looked less panicked than before.

Maybe I did too.