Goldfish at the Party

The red solo cup in my hand kept sweating onto my palm, gross and sticky. Jordan's basement party was exactly what I'd expected — too many sophomores pretending to be drunk, LED strips pulsing like they'd rhythm if they tried hard enough.

"You're not drinking," Maya said, sliding up beside me. My best friend since seventh grade, now suddenly wearing eyeliner and calling herself "grown." She nudged my shoulder. "Loosen up, Sam. It's just one cup."

"Not thirsty," I lied. The truth was, I'd promised my mom I'd call if things got weird, but weird was just Friday nights now.

Then I saw him across the room. Tyler Chen, holding a clear plastic bag with a single orange goldfish swimming inside, looking as out of place as I felt. The fish was tiny, flashing iridescent scales under the purple lights.

"Is that... a pet?" I heard myself asking, suddenly beside him.

"Party favor," Tyler shrugged, like this was normal. "Jordan's mom bought them instead of alcohol. Imagine explaining that one."

I laughed before I could stop myself. It was genuinely funny.

"His name is Bubbles," I said. "That's what you're supposed to call goldfish."

"Obviously." Tyler's eyes crinkled. "Want to help me put him in something bigger? This bag feels cruel."

We ended up in Jordan's kitchen, transferring Bubbles into a large orange mixing bowl Maya had found in a cabinet. The three of us sat on the linoleum floor, watching the fish swim lazy circles while the bass from the basement vibrated through the ceiling.

"This is officially the weirdest Friday night of my life," Maya said, dipping a finger into the bowl. Bubbles nudged it.

"Same," Tyler said. "But somehow not in a bad way."

"Lowkey the best part," I agreed.

By midnight, the fish had a name (Bubbles stuck), we'd shared a medium pizza from Jordan's freezer, and Maya had declared us "the goldfish squad." Tyler walked me home, and we sat on my front porch talking until 2 AM about everything — our divorced parents, his anxiety about track meets, my fear that I'd never figure out who I actually was.

"You're Sam," he said simply. "That's enough for now."

The next morning, my mom asked how the party was. I thought about the orange bowl, the fish, the feeling of being seen for the first time in months.

"Actually," I said, "it was pretty good."