Goldfish Confessions

Bubbles surfaced in the fishbowl like my thoughts—jumbled and rising to the top when I definitely didn't want them to. I'd named him Goldfish, which was objectively the worst name ever, but we'd been through a lot together. Almost two years of my chaotic teen life, and this little orange guy had witnessed everything from my middle school emo phase to my current situation.

I watched him glide through the water while mentally spiraling about varsity track tryouts tomorrow. Coach had given me this whole "prove yourself" speech that felt like way too much pressure. Meanwhile, my best friend group had been doing that weird thing where everyone's secretly mad but nobody's talking about it, and I was just trying to survive.

Then there was Jordan. Jordan, who sat behind me in bio making my heart do actual gymnastics. Jordan, who'd caught me staring twice this week and just smirked instead of calling me out. Jordan, who existed on a completely different social tier but still somehow ended up at my locker way too often.

"Mr. Glubbersen," I addressed my fish dramatically, "how do I tell Jordan I like them without it being absolutely cringe? Also, what if I don't make varsity and then everyone knows I'm a fraud?"

Goldfish just floated there, probably judging my entire existence with those fishy eyes. I sighed and reached for my running shoes. Maybe a quick jog would clear my head before I overthought myself into another panic spiral.

The doorbell caught me completely off guard. Jordan stood there holding my chem notebook that I'd somehow left in the cafeteria like a total space cadet.

"Hey!" they said, way too cheerful for someone who'd just witnessed my forgetfulness. Their vintage band tee and slightly messy hair were doing things to my concentration. "Thought you might need this for tomorrow's test."

"You're literally a lifesaver," I said, trying to play it cool and definitely failing. The air between us felt electric, charged with all the words I wasn't saying. Then Jordan's gaze shifted past me.

"Is that... a goldfish?"

"His name is Goldfish," I admitted, wincing at how ridiculous it sounded. "I know, I'm terrible at naming things." But instead of making fun of me, Jordan's face lit up.

"No way! I have one named Fish," they laughed. "Guess we're both matching that same chaotic naming energy."

The absurdity of it broke through my nervousness. Jordan actually stepped into my room, suddenly fascinated by my fish like it was the most interesting thing ever.

"I have track tryouts tomorrow," I blurted out, because apparently my brain-to-mouth filter had stopped working.

Jordan's eyes widened. "For real? I'm doing cross-country this fall. We should totally run together sometime."

The way they said it—casual but definitely not casual—made my stomach do that flip thing. "I'd really like that," I managed, sounding almost normal.

By the time Jordan left with a casual "see you tomorrow," I was floating somewhere around cloud nine. Goldfish swam to the front of his bowl like the tiny legend he was.

"You're welcome," I told him. "And yeah, I think that went pretty well actually."