The Riddle in the Tank

Maya's **goldfish** was the only thing that didn't expect anything from her. Not like her parents, who'd turned her bedroom into a shrine to academic achievement. Not like Coach Martinez, who kept saying she had potential as a freshman on the varsity cross-country team. Not like the whole school, somehow already knowing her older brother's GPA and assuming she'd follow suit.

She dropped another **vitamin** tablet into the fishbowl—fish vitamins, because apparently even aquatic pets needed supplementation these days. The tablet fizzed, sending tiny bubbles upward like tiny prayers.

"That's **bull**," Jordan said, leaning against her doorframe. He was a senior, the kind of comfortable-in-his-skin person Maya secretly wanted to be. "You studying again? It's Friday, Maya. The party at Tyler's is gonna be lit."

Maya didn't look up from her textbook. "Can't. Physics test Monday. Mom's got this whole thing about maintaining momentum."

"Your mom's not wrong, but she's not right either." Jordan stepped into her room, careful not to knock over her meticulously organized desk. "You ever feel like you're living someone else's life? Like, who are you when nobody's watching?"

The question hung there like something forbidden. Maya finally looked at him. Jordan was weirdly philosophical for someone who spent most of his time making TikTok dances about consumerism.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I think that's the point. I haven't figured it out yet."

Her **goldfish** swam to the surface, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition. Maya wondered if fish had existential crises, or if they just accepted their tiny kingdoms and moved on.

"You're like the **sphinx**," Jordan said suddenly. "All mysterious and guarded, guarding some secret riddle only you can solve. But Maya? The riddle's not that deep. You're allowed to be mediocre. You're allowed to suck at things. You're allowed to exist without a five-year plan."

Maya's throat tightened. She thought about the vitamins in the fishbowl, the expectations that kept piling up like unread notifications, the way she'd been running from everything she didn't want to face.

"I think I'm scared," she said quietly. "That if I stop moving, everything falls apart."

"Then let it fall," Jordan said. "Some things need to break before you can build something real."

That night, Maya didn't study. She watched her fish swim in endless circles, wondering if freedom looked like stillness or movement. For the first time, she didn't hate not knowing the answer.