Goldfish at the Pool Party

I was running late—again—to what might be the most important party of the summer. Lila's pool party. The air was thick with humidity as I sprinted toward her house, my backpack bouncing against my spine. Inside sat Mr. Bubbles, my sister's carnival goldfish, swimming in his tiny bowl like he'd personally failed at everything.

"Just watch him for ONE hour," she'd said. "Don't let him die."

No pressure or anything.

The backyard was already packed. Half the baseball team flexed by the pool, shirts off, making way too much noise about something that happened at practice. Tyler—Tyler with the jawline and the arms that looked like they'd been sculpted by gods who cared way too much about high school social hierarchies—caught my eye and smirked.

"Hey, Maya. You gonna stand there all day?"

My face burned. I was carrying a goldfish in a plastic baggie AND a container of chopped papaya because my mom had decided this was the summer I'd develop "exotic tastes." I looked like a walking weirdo convention.

"Just... admiring the setup," I managed.

Then it happened. Someone—I'm pretty sure it was Austin, the team's pitcher who always smelled like coconut sunscreen and entitlement—shoved past me. Mr. Bubbles went flying.

The baggie burst. Goldfish flopped onto the concrete, gasping.

The whole party went silent.

I dropped to my knees, scooping him up as carefully as I could. His scales shimmered orange and silver in the sunlight, looking nothing like the majestic creature I'd imagined saving in my head. He looked like he regretted every life choice.

"He's dying!" someone whispered.

Without thinking, I rushed to the pool's edge and released Mr. Bubbles into the chlorinated water. He swam a frantic circle, then another, surprisingly alive.

"Wait," Lila called from her lounge chair. "Did you just...

"I saved his life," I said, standing up. My knees were grass-stained. My hands smelled like pool water. Mr. Bubbles was already making friends with a cluster of stunned freshmen.

Tyler jumped into the pool, surfacing right next to where the goldfish darted. "That's actually kind of badass."

"Yeah?" I found myself grinning despite everything. "I also have papaya."

"Weird flex," he said, splashing water at me. "But I'm kinda hungry."

So I sat at the edge of the pool, eating papaya chunks with the guy I'd been crushing on since seventh grade, watching Mr. Bubbles dominate his new territory. My sister's fish had officially achieved more in one afternoon than I had in three years of high school.

Maybe this summer wouldn't be so terrible after all.