Goldfish at the Summit

The social pyramid at Northwood High was simpler than eighth-grade geometry. Tyler sat at the apex — varsity jacket, effortless smile, the kind of guy who made eye contact across the cafeteria and made your stomach do that weird flippy thing. Then there was everyone else: the base, the middle, the forgotten layers. somewhere around the third tier from the bottom, that's where you'd find Maya and me.

"You're staring again," Maya whispered, kicking my shin under the lunch table.

"Am not," I lied, even though Tyler was currently laughing at something Chloe said, his head thrown back, that perfect laugh that sounded like summer itself.

"You so are. Just ask him to the pool party already."

The pool party. The entire reason my anxiety had been living rent-free in my head for two weeks straight. Tyler's annual end-of-school blowout. The invitation had sat on my dresser like a nuclear option — yes, go and risk embarrassment, or no, stay home and definitely regret it forever.

"I can't just ask him. We've literally spoken three words total. 'Nice spike' in gym doesn't exactly scream 'let's hang out.'"

Maya rolled her eyes so hard I worried they'd get stuck. "Okay, new plan. The goldfish operation."

I blinked. "The what now?"

"You know how Tyler's super into those exotic fish? His whole Instagram is just tank pics. So you bring him a goldfish. A conversation starter. Boom. Instant bonding."

"Maya, that's literally the most unhinged thing you've ever said, and you once suggested we catfish our exes with a fake modeling account."

"Do you want to talk to him or not?"

Four hours later, I stood outside Tyler's house clutching a plastic bag containing one very confused goldfish I'd named Bubbles, while Maya hyped me up from behind a hedge. The bass from inside vibrated in my chest. People were already in the pool — I could hear splashing and that specific high-pitched laughter that meant girls were performing for boys.

Tyler opened the door, shirt already off, chlorine already in his hair like he'd been swimming for hours.

"Hey! You made it!" He grinned, and I forgot everything I'd planned to say.

"I brought you a fish," I blurted.

The silence stretched. Tyler looked at the bag. I looked at Tyler. Somewhere behind me, Maya made a muffled sound into her hands.

Then Tyler started laughing. Not mean laughing. Real laughing.

"Dude. That's awesome. His name is Toast, and he's going to live in the castle tank." He stepped back. "Come meet the pyramid of social awkwardness. Everyone's in the backyard."

The pyramid wasn't what I thought. Not a hierarchy at all — just a bunch of people sitting on pool chairs arranged like a pyramid formation, eating chips and being weirdly chill. No tiers. No apex. Just people.

Later that night, I sat between Tyler and some kid from drama club, watching Bubbles swim around his new castle, and thought maybe pyramids weren't about climbing to the top. Maybe they were just structures people built together, stone by stone, fish by fish.

"Nice spike," Tyler said, bumping my shoulder with his.

"Nice fish," I said back.

And for the first time all year, I didn't feel like I was drowning.