Goldfish Confessions

I'd named him Fin. Not exactly creative, but he was a goldfish, so it felt appropriate. Fin swam in endless circles around his bowl while I lay on my bed, doomscrolling through Instagram stories like it was my job. Being a teenager meant constantly feeling like you were missing out on something cooler happening somewhere else.

My phone buzzed. Jordan, from AP History, had posted a story. I watched him and his perfect friends at some party I definitely hadn't been invited to. Total spy behavior, but whatever. Everyone did it. We all surveilled each other's lives, measuring ourselves against curated moments that weren't even real.

"You're doing it again," my older brother announced from my doorway, leaning against the frame with that annoying older sibling confidence. "Stalking people online instead of actually living."

"I'm not stalking," I protested, though my thumb had been hovering over Jordan's profile for approximately ten minutes too long. "I'm conducting research. Social analysis."

"Right." Marcus rolled his eyes. "Mom wants to know if you're coming to dinner. Also, your fish looks depressed."

Fin did look kind of sad, actually. His bowl sat on my desk, a tiny universe of one. I'd won him at a carnival last summer when my friends and I had gone because we had nothing better to do. We'd spent the whole night complaining about being underclassmen while pretending we were totally fine with sitting at the worst table at the food court.

"He's contemplating existence," I said. "It's deep. You wouldn't understand."

Marcus snorted. "I understand you need to come eat before Mom starts with the speeches about family bonding."

Dinner was the usual chaos—Mom asking about school, Marcus being cryptic about his college applications, me pushing food around my plate. My phone burned in my pocket. Had Jordan viewed my story yet? Had I accidentally watched his twice? The social anxiety was real and relentless.

After dinner, I returned to my room to find Fin floating sideways near the bottom of his bowl.

"No," I whispered. "Fin, buddy, no."

I Googled goldfish lifespan like my life depended on it. Could goldfish get depressed? Did I need to buy him a friend? Was I literally the worst pet owner in history?

My phone lit up with a notification. Jordan had messaged me.

*Hey, saw you were looking at my story. That party was lame anyway. You doing anything tomorrow?*

I stared at the screen. This was it. The moment I'd been waiting for since September. But instead of excitement, I felt... weird. Like I'd been spying on him, collecting data instead of actually knowing him.

I looked at Fin, still floating sideways. Something about seeing him at what might be the end made everything else feel both incredibly important and completely pointless.

I typed back: *Actually, I have to help my brother with something. But maybe soon?*

Then I turned off my phone, picked up Fin's bowl, and headed to the living room where Marcus was studying.

"I think Fin's dying," I announced.

Marcus looked up from his textbook, his face softening. "Let me see."

We sat together on the couch, me and my brother who was usually too cool for everything, watching my goldfish not die for what felt like hours but was probably twenty minutes. Eventually Fin swam upright again, apparently having reconsidered his exit strategy.

"I think he was just dramatic," Marcus said.

"He takes after me," I replied, feeling something weird in my chest. Not anxiety, not excitement, but something closer to peace.

Maybe growing up meant realizing that some circles weren't actually circles at all—they were spirals, always moving somewhere new. And maybe the scariest part wasn't not knowing where you were going, but finally figuring out who you wanted to be with you when you got there.

Fin swam another lap. I turned my phone back on.

One new notification from Jordan: *No worries. Let me know when you're free.*

I smiled, feeling brave for the first time in a long time.