Cannonball Curveball

The community pool was my kingdom, even if my crown was a faded red whistle and zinc-covered nose. I ruled from the lifeguard stand, watching preteens execute catastrophic cannonballs while pretending not to notice when Madison from my English class reclained on a lounge chair like she owned the concrete.

"Your form's tragic," she said, not looking up from her phone. "Like, impressively bad."

"I'm saving lives, Madison. Form's secondary."

"Whatever." She sat up, all sudden energy. "Baseball party tonight at Lucas's. His parents got one of those above-ground setups. You in?"

My stomach did something complicated. Lucas was varsity captain, objectively gorgeous, and had once nodded at me in the hallway, which I'd overanalyzed for three weeks. "I don't really do... people stuff."

"You're doing this. Seven o'clock. Don't make me drag you."

The problem wasn't the party. The problem was the goldfish.

Specifically, the carnival goldfish I'd won three weeks ago and accidentally become weirdly emotionally attached to. Captain Bubblesworth (don't judge) lived in a bowl on my nightstand, and I'd created this whole narrative about us both being misunderstood aquatic entities in hostile environments.

But Lucas's party was legendary, and Madison never invited me anywhere, and—

I brought Captain Bubblesworth in a Tupperware container. It seemed logical at the time.

The baseball portion of the evening was a disaster. I'd never swung a bat in my life. Lucas was patient, showing me how to stand, where to grip, his fingers lingering on mine way longer than necessary while my brain short-circuited.

Then someone knocked into the refreshment table.

The Tupperware shattered.

Time warped. I watched Captain Bubblesworth arc through the air like a tiny, doomed astronaut, Madison shrieking, Lucas lunging—

—and landed directly in the pool.

"NO!" I bolted past everyone, clothes and dignity forgotten, and executed the most graceful dive of my life.

Surface. Gasping. Something orange flickering near the drain.

I cradled him to my chest, dripping, panting, everyone staring like I'd lost my entire mind. Lucas grinned slowly.

"Okay," he said. "That was actually kind of hardcore."

Madison was howling with laughter. "Your fish just learned to swim in something bigger than a bowl. Evolution, baby."

Captain Bubblesworth survived, by the way. But later that night, Lucas texted me: "next time, maybe leave the fish at home? or we can go to the actual pool. your choice."

I'm not saying a fish changed my life. But I'm also not saying he didn't.