Three Second Memory

The carnival goldfish lived in a bowl on Maya's nightstand, its orange scales glowing against her phone screen as she scrolled through texts from Jordan. Either Jordan didn't know what he wanted, or Maya was just convenient between whatever situationship he had with half the sophomore class. Either way, she was done.

"You're literally spiraling again," her best friend Keisha had said earlier that day. They'd been sitting by the school pool, watching the swim team practice. "Jordan is giving you the ick. Why are you still checking his snaps?"

Maya hadn't had an answer then, but staring at the fish now, something clicked. Goldfish were supposedly supposed to have three-second memories. Imagine that. Swimming in circles, forgetting everything, just existing. No overthinking. No replaying conversations at 2 AM. No wondering if she'd said the wrong thing or if Jordan's emoji choices meant something deeper than they probably did.

The fish bumped against the glass, its tiny mouth opening and closing like it was trying to speak. Maya pulled on her running shoes. She needed to clear her head before sophomore orientation tomorrow, before seeing Jordan in the hallway, before pretending everything was fine.

Outside, the August humidity hit her like a wall. Her neighborhood loop was exactly two miles—past the park where she'd had her first kiss (disaster), the corner store where Jordan always bought her strawberry soda (trying too hard), and the old quarry with water so dark it looked like it swallowed everything.

She ran until her lungs burned, past the memory of Jordan's hoodie in her backpack, past the way he'd looked at her across the cafeteria last week like he was seeing her for the first time. The goldfish didn't know about heartbreak. It just knew its bowl, its flakes, its endless circles.

But Maya wasn't a fish. She could remember everything.

By the time she got back, her shirt was soaked through, her hair plastered to her forehead. The fish was still swimming, still circling, still trapped. Maya dropped her phone in her desk drawer and turned off the lights.

Some circles were meant to be broken.