Goldfish at the Country Club

The first day of summer job at Willow Creek Country Club, I learned three things: chlorine burns your eyes, rich kids are terrifying, and I had no idea what padel even was.

"You're on court three," Brittany said, barely looking up from her phone. Her perfect hair somehow defied humidity. "The Henderson twins. They'readvanced."

Advanced. Right. I'd played tennis exactly twice in gym class.

The pool glimmered beyond the courts, calling to me like a siren. Why couldn't I be a lifeguard? That's where Tyler was probably stationed—shirtless, whistling at girls who pretended not to care.

I dragged myself to court three.

"You're not Coach Martinez," one twin said.

"He's sick. I'm filling in. I'm Jordan."

They exchanged glances. The kind that made my stomach do that awful twisty thing. The same twist from when Connor Miller—actual grade-A bull of a human—had "jokingly" knocked my books out of my hands every day last semester.

"Fine," the other twin sighed. "Let's see what you've got."

I'd never held a padel racket before. The ball came at me, and I swung like my life depended on it. It sailed straight over the fence. Splash. Right into the pool.

Both twins stared.

"Oops."

But then they started laughing. Not mean laughing—real, doubled-over, can't-breathe laughing. Something in my chest loosened.

"Okay," one said, wiping her eyes. "That was actually pretty sick."

We spent the next hour playing terrible padel and talking about everything. Connor Miller, how much we hated our braces, why we pretended to understand French movies. By the end, they'd invited me to their end-of-summer bash.

Walking to my car, I noticed something shimmering near the pool edge. A goldfish—tiny, orange, somehow surviving in the chlorinated water.

I got it. Weirdly, ridiculously got it.

Tomorrow, I'd ask Tyler if he wanted to hang out after his shift. And maybe I'd tell Connor Miller to get lost. For now, I just watched the goldfish swim, wondering how something so small could be so brave.