Three Goldfish Later

My mother's voice echoed through the house as I stood frozen in front of the bathroom mirror. "Maya Chen, if you don't eat your breakfast, you'll waste away before college orientation!"

I stared at my reflection. The braces were finally off, leaving teeth that felt too exposed, too vulnerable. My hair refused to behave, and my stomach churned with the kind of nervous energy that made everything feel slightly electric and slightly wrong.

"I'm not hungry," I called back, which wasn't entirely true. I was starving, just not for the plain spinach omelet waiting downstairs.

The truth was, in three days, I'd be starting at Pacific Crest University without my best friend Sarah, without my familiar bedroom, without anything that felt like home. Everyone kept telling me how exciting it was, how I'd blossom, how this was what I'd worked toward for four years.

They didn't mention the part where you might feel like you were disappearing.

My phone buzzed. Liam.

*Running to the creek. You coming?*

Liam, who'd been my neighbor since we were seven, who'd seen me through the awkward middle school bangs phase, who somehow made me feel like I didn't need to perform being okay.

*Be there in 10.*

The creek path wound behind our subdivision, past the old Miller property where Mrs. Miller still kept her garden gnome collection and three pond goldfish in a ceramic bowl on her porch. We'd stopped there a hundred times, but today Liam dropped onto her porch steps instead of keeping pace.

"You okay?" he asked, and something about the way he asked it—like he actually wanted to know, not like it was just something to say—made everything spill out.

"I feel like I'm forgetting who I am," I said finally. "Like, Maya's going to college, but I don't know if the person going is actually me."

Liam was quiet for a moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag of cheddar goldfish crackers.

"My sister says goldfish only grow to the size of their tank," he said, pouring some into my palm. "But they're not actually stuck. They just stop growing because there's nowhere to go."

He gestured toward the creek, where the water kept moving, endless and impossible.

"You're not stuck, Maya. You're just upgrading your tank."

I looked at the goldfish crackers in my hand, then at Liam, who'd been running beside me through everything important since we were kids.

"You're a good friend," I said, swallowing past something tight in my throat.

"I know," he grinned, standing up and stretching. "Now come on. If we're late, your mom will probably call the police."

I laughed, and for the first time all summer, the fear in my chest quieted. Some things would change, definitely. But some things—some people—wouldn't.

"Race you there," I said, already sprinting toward the path.

Behind me, Liam's footsteps matched my pace, steady and certain, like the kind of friend who doesn't let you run alone.