Three Seconds of Cool

I pulled my beanie down lower, basically wearing it like a disguise. Which, honestly, it was. Being a freshman in high school felt like walking around with a spotlight on you at all times—except the spotlight was everyone's judgment and also you were definitely not cool enough to deserve a spotlight.

"You look like you're about to rob a vending machine," said Kayla, appearing beside my locker like she'd teleportation powers. Which wouldn't even surprise me at this point. Kayla was capable of anything.

"I'm incognito," I said, which was definitely a word I'd learned from YA novels and was now using incorrectly in real life. "Spy mode."

"Spying on who?"

"Everyone. No one. The human condition."

Kayla rolled her eyes so hard I genuinely worried they'd get stuck. "You're so dramatic. Anyway, did you hear about Jordan's party?" She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Apparently someone's cat got into the house and—"

"Wait. You're whispering about a cat?"

"Not just a cat. Jordan's mom's prize-winning show cat. It ate, like, three decorative goldfish from this fancy pond setup in the backyard. Total chaos. People were screaming. It was iconic."

I stopped mid-backpack-zip. "Wait, you went?"

Kayla's face went carefully blank. "No. Obviously. I'm just... informed. I have sources."

"You're literally always saying you hate Jordan. Why are you spying on Jordan's parties?"

"I'm not spying! I just—like to stay informed. Social awareness. It's called being prepared."

"For what? The goldfish apocalypse?"

She glared, but I saw the tiny smile she was fighting. Anyway, long story short, we ended up walking to Jordan's house that night because Kayla was "just curious" and I was "technically her ride" even though I don't have a car and we were literally walking.

The party was already wild when we got there. Cars everywhere, music thumping against our chests, people running around the front yard like the whole thing was some kind of coordinated sport event. My heart was basically doing jumping jacks. I wasn't even supposed to be at parties yet, according to my mom, who still texted me asking if I'd "eaten a nutritious lunch."

"You okay?" Kayla asked, nudging me.

"Yeah," I lied. "Just. Spy mode activated."

"You're so weird." But she said it like it was a compliment.

We didn't go inside. Instead, we sat on the curb across the street, watching everything like we were documenting evidence for a documentary. People running in and out. Someone threw up in a bush. Two people were definitely kissing behind a tree and doing a terrible job of hiding it.

"You know," Kayla said after a while, "goldfish only have a three-second memory."

"What?"

"Goldfish. They forget stuff every three seconds. Imagine that. Just... continuous new experiences. No baggage. No overthinking everything." She pulled her knees to her chest. "Wouldn't that be sick?"

I thought about it. About my beanie "disguise." About how I'd spent the last two weeks obsessively checking Jordan's social media like some kind of pathetic investigator. About how Kayla, who was genuinely the coolest person I knew, was sitting on a curb across from a party she wouldn't enter because she felt like she didn't belong.

"Actually," I said, "I think that would be kind of lonely."

She looked at me, really looked at me. "Yeah. Maybe."

"We could go in," I said, even though my hands were sweating. "Like. If you wanted."

Kayla watched a girl with sparkly eyeliner run out of the house laughing so hard she tripped. "Nah. I'm good here. This is better."

"Yeah," I agreed, and I actually meant it. "This is better."

We stayed for twenty minutes, making up stories about everyone we saw. The guy running toward the punch bowl was definitely a failed assassin. The girl who kept checking her phone was waiting for a message from the president. Kayla's cat theory about the goldfish incident had been a cover—she'd been livestreaming the whole thing from someone's Instagram, but I didn't call her out on it.

Some things you don't need to say out loud.

Walking home, she grabbed my hand for exactly three seconds before letting go, like we were practicing for something bigger. I didn't mention it. I just adjusted my hat and kept walking, pretending my heart wasn't doing jumping jacks all over again.

"Next time," she said, not looking at me. "We're going inside."

"Yeah," I said. "Next time."

And somehow, I believed her. The spotlight didn't feel so bright anymore. Or maybe I was just getting used to the dark.