Goldfish at the Deep End

The graduation party was supposed to be legendary. Instead, I was gripping a plastic bag containing one very confused goldfish while Leo—the guy I'd been crushing on since seventh grade—stood three feet away, looking stupidly hot in his swim trunks.

"You brought a fish?" Maya whispered, dying inside. She was my best friend, which meant she had to witness my social suicide in real time.

"He won it for me at the carnival," I said, which wasn't technically a lie. The guy at the dunk tank had handed it to me after I refused to throw a single ball, sensing my deep existential crisis about leaving for college in August. Also, I'd felt bad that all the other fish were getting terrorized by screaming children.

"His name is Papaya," I added defensively.

Maya stared at me. Then she started laughing so hard she snorted, which only attracted attention. Leo glanced over, and I instinctively thrust Papaya behind my back like a forbidden contraband item.

Three hours later, I was sitting at the edge of the pool with my feet in the water, fish bag floating beside me like a bizarre beverage. The party had thinned out. The playlist had shifted from hype bangers to something atmospheric and dreamy.

Leo slid into the pool next to me, slicking his hair back. Water droplets clung to his shoulders like he'd been dipped in starlight.

"Cool fish," he said.

I froze. "You're mocking me."

"I'm not." He treaded water, watching me with this intensity that made my chest feel weirdly tight. "I had a goldfish once. lived for seven years. My brother fed it Doritos and it survived. That fish had more resilience than my entire family."

I cracked up. And then we were talking, really talking, about everything and nothing—about leaving, about staying, about how the future felt like standing at the deep end and being too scared to jump.

"Papaya needs a bigger home," I said finally. "Somewhere he can actually swim."

Leo's place was on the way to mine. We walked there together, damp chlorine smell still clinging to us, fish bag sloshing between my hands. When I set Papaya free into his properly cycled tank, the little guy immediately did a joyous loop, like he understood everything was about to change.

"See you tomorrow?" Leo asked at my door.

"Yeah." I smiled so hard my face hurt. "Tomorrow."