Curveballs and Carnival Prizes

The championship baseball game was supposed to be on cable in twenty minutes, and Maya was supposed to be at Tyler's house with the rest of the team. Instead, she was kneeling on the kitchen floor, staring at a plastic bag containing one very sad-looking goldfish.

"He's not moving," her seven-year-old brother Leo wailed. "He's gonna die like the last one."

The goldfish—probably named Goldie or Finn or something equally unoriginal—flopped sideways in the water. Maya had begged her mom to let Leo go to the carnival with their aunt. Now she was stuck dealing with the consequences while everyone else was living their best lives without her.

Her phone buzzed. *You coming? Game starts in ten.* Tyler.

Maya's stomach did that stupid fluttery thing it always did when he texted her. She'd been crushing on Tyler since middle school, and this year—sophomore year, finally—he'd actually started noticing her back. The baseball team watched games together. It was a thing. A thing she was currently missing.

*Can't,* she typed. *Family stuff.*

Leo sniffled. "Can you save him, Maya?"

The goldfish swam one weak circle. Maya sighed, grabbed her phone, and texted Tyler: *Can you watch on cable? My mom won't let me leave.*

Then she called her aunt. "What did you feed him?"

"Cotton candy," her aunt said cheerfully. "He seemed to want it."

Maya hung up and glared at the fish. "Okay buddy. You and me. Let's survive this night together."

Two hours later, the goldfish was swimming in properly conditioned water in a real bowl, Maya had learned way too much about fish care from YouTube, and Tyler had kept her on the phone the entire baseball game, narrating plays while she made fun of his terrible commentary.

"You're literally wrong about everything," she'd said, laughing while the goldfish did a backflip.

"Yeah? Then why are you still on the phone?" he'd shot back, and Maya's heart had basically jumped out of her chest.

The next day at school, Tyler found her by her locker. "Hey. So, did the fish make it?"

Maya blinked. "You remembered the goldfish?"

"The one that almost died from cotton candy?" Tyler grinned. "Hard to forget." He shifted his weight. "Anyway, I was thinking... next home game, you should come sit with me. Actually watch it live, not through my terrible play-by-play."

"I don't know anything about baseball."

"I'll teach you." He looked down, then back up. "Unless you'd rather stay home with goldfish."

Maya smiled. "Live sounds better."

That night, she stared at the goldfish swimming happily in its bowl. "You know what?" she whispered. "You're not so bad." The fish did a little flip, like it understood. Maybe curveballs weren't so terrible after all.