Goldfish and the Sphinx

The carnival air smelled like fried dough and desperation, which honestly, described my entire sophomore year. I stood there holding a plastic bag containing my prize – a tiny **goldfish** that probably had a three-day lifespan max, watching Jake Chen laugh with his friends near the ring toss booth.

"You gonna talk to him or just stare?" Maya asked, bumping my shoulder. "You're not a **sphinx** guarding secrets. You're just a girl with a fish."

I rolled my eyes. Maya had been pushing me to make a move on Jake since homecoming, when we'd somehow ended up slow dancing and I'd spent three minutes talking about my AP History project on ancient Egypt instead of, you know, being normal.

"It's not that easy," I protested, watching Jake's perfect hair catch the afternoon light. "I freeze up. Every time."

Maya's eyes landed on something behind me and lit up. "Oh, this is perfect."

Before I could process what was happening, she'd dragged me toward it – the mechanical **bull**. The one ride I'd been successfully avoiding since seventh grade, when I'd flown off it in front of everyone and landed in what I can only describe as the most unflattering position known to humanity.

"No way. Absolutely not."

"You ride that for eight seconds," Maya challenged, "and I will personally walk over there and tell Jake you think he's cute. Deal?"

The goldfish swam obliviously in my bag. The sphinx at the museum had guarded riddles; I guarded my feelings like they were state secrets. And this bull – this stupid, mechanical embarrassment machine – stood between me and possibly the moment I'd been replaying in my head since October.

I handed Maya the fish bag.

"Eight seconds," I said, climbing on. "That's it."

The operator smirked. "Hold on tight, princess."

The bull jerked to life, and I lasted maybe four seconds before flying off – but this time I was laughing. Jake turned at the sound, and our eyes met across the carnival chaos. He smiled.

"You okay?" he called out, jogging over.

I stood up, dusting myself off, grinning like an idiot. "Never better."

Maya appeared beside me, thrusting the goldfish bag back into my hands. "Eight seconds?"

"Four," I admitted as Jake reached us.

"You were amazing," he said. "Way better than my attempt last year."

I looked at my new fish, at Maya's knowing smirk, at Jake's genuine smile. Some things were worth the risk, even if you only lasted four seconds. Even if you fell off.

"Want to help me name him?" I asked Jake, holding up the bag.

His smile widened. "Absolutely."