Three Second Memory

Everyone says goldfish have three-second memories. Sometimes I feel like I'm the one swimming in circles, forgetting everything the moment it happens.

Like right now. Staring at Jake across the cafeteria, wondering if he'd actually said what I thought he'd said yesterday, or if I'd imagined the whole thing because I wanted it so bad.

"You're zoning out again," Maya said, sliding her tray onto the table. "What's on your mind, besides the obvious?"

I ducked my head. "Nothing."

"That's bull and you know it."

I couldn't help it — I laughed. Maya had this way of calling me out without making me feel stupid. She'd been doing it since seventh grade, back when I'd transferred here mid-year and spent the first month eating lunch in the library until she'd literally dragged me to her table.

"Okay, fine," I admitted. "Jake asked for my number yesterday."

Maya's eyes went wide. "Wait, THE Jake? As in, Jake who's been practically dating Sarah since forever?"

"That's the thing." I leaned in. "He was super weird about it. Like, 'don't tell anyone, I need help with this project but I can't ask Sarah because she'll think something's going on' — and it felt off, you know? But I also didn't want to make things weird by refusing."

Maya shook her head slowly. "Honey, that boy is full of it. He's trying to play both sides, and you're the cable he's using to reconnect."

"What?"

"Think about it. Sarah's been pissed at him since Friday. Everyone knows they got into it at Chloe's party. Now he's all 'oh, let me secretly text you' — he's trying to make her jealous. And you're convenient."

I stared at my food, feeling my face burn. She was right. I knew she was right. But admitting it meant admitting I'd almost fallen for it.

"So what do I do?"

"Forward me whatever he sends," Maya said. "I'll handle it."

"No." I sat up straighter. "No, I'll tell him myself."

That night, when Jake texted, I stared at my screen for five whole minutes before typing: If you need help with homework, ask during class. If you're trying to make someone jealous, you're using the wrong person.

Then I blocked his number.

"You didn't," Maya said the next day when I told her. She was grinning.

"I did."

"You're literally my hero."

"It took me like an hour to work up the courage."

"Still counts."

I watched Jake and Sarah at lunch, sitting at their usual spot like nothing had happened. For a second, I felt that familiar tug — that wanting to be part of whatever magic made people like them shine so bright. But then Maya nudged me with her elbow and said, "I heard they're showing that horror movie everyone's talking about this weekend. Want to go?"

And I thought: maybe some people have three-second memories. Maybe some people keep swimming in the same circles forever. But not me. Not anymore. "Yes," I said. "Absolutely."