Fish Out of Water

Every Sunday, my parents drag me to the Oak Creek Country Club, where I'm supposed to learn padel — this sport that's like tennis, but for people who think tennis is too mainstream. The club smells like chlorine and money, and I feel like a fraud in my pristine white outfit that Mom insists is 'essential for the experience.' I'm terrible at sports, socially awkward, and pretty sure everyone can tell I don't belong.

The one good thing about Sunday afternoons is the goldfish in the lobby's massive aquarium. It's this tiny orange thing with big, weird eyes that always seems to be staring at me like, 'You too, huh?' I've started calling it Norman. Norman the goldfish, trapped in his fancy glass prison, swimming in endless circles while people in expensive clothes walk past without even noticing him. We have a lot in common.

Today, Dad's trying to upgrade my padel racket because 'quality equipment builds confidence,' but I'm pretty sure nothing can build confidence when you've already tripped over your own feet twice in front of the Popular Kids.

That's when I notice this guy sitting by the pool during our water break. He's maybe a year older, with dark hair and this permanent five o'clock shadow that makes him look like he hasn't slept in days. He's skipping stones across the water like it's the most important thing in the world.

'I saw you talking to Norman,' he says without looking up. 'The goldfish, I mean.'

I freeze. 'You noticed?'

'I talk to him too,' the guy admits, finally looking at me with these intense brown eyes. 'Name's Leo. I think he's judging us.'

And just like that, we're friends. Leo's also been forced into padel lessons by his dad, who's trying to 'improve his social standing through athletic excellence.' We bond over being terrible at sports, over parents who don't get it, and over Norman, who's swimming around like he owns the place.

When my parents finally collect me hours later, something's different. I'm still terrible at padel. I'm still awkward around the Popular Kids. But for the first time, Sunday doesn't feel like punishment. I've got someone to sit with during water breaks. Someone who gets it.

As we're leaving, I catch Norman's eye through the glass. He winks — okay, fine, goldfish don't wink, but it felt like a wink. Like he knows something good happened. Like maybe neither of us are as alone as we thought.