Goldfish at Match Point

The goldfish in the bowl on my nightstand stared at me with what I swear was judgment.

"You're going, Em. It's not optional," said Jenna, already dressed in her cute pink skirt and white polo, looking like she'd stepped out of a country club catalog. I, on the other hand, was still in sweatpants, contemplating faking a sudden illness.

"Why padel?" I groaned. "Why not something normal? Like, I don't know, literally anything else?"

"Because Ryan's going to be there, and his older brother Cameron, and—"

"And Cameron's team is playing against ours, and you want to impress him by crushing his brother. I get it. But I'm going to embarrass myself."

"You're not going to embarrass yourself! You took that tennis camp that one time in seventh grade."

"That was three years ago, Jen. I have the athletic coordination of a recently sedated sloth."

She sighed. "Just come. Please. I need my best friend there."

Twenty minutes later, I was standing on a padel court, holding a racquet that felt foreign in my hands. The walls were glass, the floor was blue artificial turf, and I was about to make a complete fool of myself in front of the cutest boy in tenth grade.

"You ready for this?" Ryan asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was about to play Wimbledon.

"So ready," I lied. "Super ready. Can't wait."

Cameron was on the other side of the court, stretching his arms lazily. He caught my eye and smirked.

"First time?"

"Is it that obvious?" I muttered.

"Your grip's upside down."

I flipped my hands around, face burning.

The game started, and within seconds, a ball came flying at my face. I flinched, closed my eyes, and swung wildly.

Thwack.

The ball hit the glass wall behind me.

"Good swing!" Cameron called out, grinning. "Enthusiastic."

This was going to be a disaster.

By the third set, I was actually sweating. My hair was frizzy, my knees were scraped from diving for balls I consistently missed, and I was pretty sure I'd heard someone snort when I tripped over my own feet.

But then, in the middle of a rally, something unexpected happened. A dog—a golden retriever, judging by the blur of fur—suddenly burst onto the court, chasing a butterfly.

Everyone stopped. The ball rolled away forgotten.

"Buster!" A girl came running after him, red-faced. "I am so sorry!"

The dog trotted right up to me and sat, tail thumping against my leg, looking pleased with himself.

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"Well played, sir," I said, scratching behind his ears.

Cameron was laughing too. "That's the best move of the match."

Ryan tossed the ball to Buster, who caught it mid-air. "Dude. Your dog has better coordination than Emma."

"Hey!" Jenna protested. "Em's doing great!"

"I'm not," I admitted, still petting the dog. "I'm terrible. But that's okay."

Cameron walked over, hands in his pockets. "You know, my little sister says she learns better when she's not trying to be perfect at everything. She says you just have to breathe through it."

"Breathe through it?"

"Like a fish. Just keep swimming, you know?"

I looked at him, then at Jenna, who was trying not to smile, then at the dog who was now gnawing on a padel ball.

"You know what? That's actually good advice."

"Same time next week?" Cameron asked.

"Only if the dog comes back."

"Deal."

That night, the goldfish was still watching me, but this time, I didn't feel judged.

"He said to breathe through it," I told him. "So that's what I'm going to do."

The fish swam to the surface, opened its mouth, and blew a tiny bubble.

"I know," I said. "Me too."