Goldfish Don't Play Padel

The goldfish cracker floated in Chloe's pool like a tiny, orange boat. I stared at it from my lifeguard chair, wishing I could dissolve into the water like that cracker would in about ten minutes.

"Hey, Goldfish!"

I jerked upright. Tyler stood at the edge of the pool, dripping wet and grinning like he'd just invented water. Some nickname he'd given me because he said I had that "constantly surprised" look that goldfish always have. Never mind that I was the only one working while everyone else hung out.

"Wanna play padel later?" he asked. "My parents finally got us a court membership."

Padel. That sport all the rich kids played because tennis was too "mainstream." I'd never even held a racquet.

"Maybe," I said, because "I have no idea what I'm doing" sounded pathetic.

That's when Jasmine appeared at the fence, carrying a bowl of cut fruit. She was everything I wasn't: confident, graceful, apparently the kind of person who brought fresh fruit to the pool on a Tuesday.

"Trying padel?" She sat beside me and held out a piece of bright orange fruit. "Papaya? It's basically summer in a bite."

I took it. "What's it taste like?"

"Like you're seventeen and everything's about to change." She grinned. "Just kidding. It's sweet and musky. You'll love it or hate it."

I bit into it. Weird. Soft like a banana but with this tang that hit the back of my throat. Not bad. Not good either. Just... complicated.

"So, padel," Jasmine said, nodding toward where Tyler was demonstrating his swing to some freshmen. "You going?"

"I don't even know what it is."

"It's like tennis but shorter," she said. "More action, less running. Perfect for people who overthink everything."

Ouch.

"Come on, Goldfish." She stood up and stretched. "I'll teach you. Unless you're scared."

Something in her voice made me think she wasn't just talking about padel.

The padel court was smaller than I expected, enclosed in glass walls that made everything echo. Jasmine handed me a racquet. "First rule: stop thinking about how stupid you look. That's step one to everything."

"Step two?"

"Actually hit the ball."

I missed. The ball smacked into the glass wall behind me.

Tyler whistled from the sidelines. "Nice form, Goldfish!"

But Jasmine just laughed. "Again. And this time, don't apologize to the racquet."

We played for hours. My arms ached. My hair stuck to my neck. I was terrible at it, sweaty and awkward and probably bright red.

But for the first time all summer, I didn't feel like I was underwater.

"You know what's funny about goldfish?" Jasmine asked afterward, as we sat on the bench sharing the rest of the papaya. "Everyone thinks they have three-second memories. Like they can't remember anything, so they just keep swimming in circles."

She wiped juice from her chin. "But scientists proved that's wrong. Goldfish remember for months. They can recognize faces. They learn tricks. They just got a bad reputation."

I looked at her, really looked at her, and something clicked. "So they're not actually forgetful."

"Nope. They're just misunderstood."

Tyler called my name from the pool, but I didn't turn.

"Same time tomorrow?" Jasmine asked.

"Yeah," I said. "And maybe bring more papaya."

She grinned. "Only if you promise to actually hit the ball this time."

The goldfish cracker was gone when I got back to my lifeguard chair. Dissolved into nothing, like it had never been there. But I remembered exactly where it had floated.