Goldfish Dreams

The cafeteria smelled like disappointment and reheated pizza. I stared at my tray—salad with spinach that looked like it had seen better days, a vitamin C supplement my mom insisted I take, and the crushing weight of sophomore year existence.

"You look like a zombie," Maya said, sliding onto the bench across from me. Her swim team duffel made a thud on the linoleum. "Rough night?"

"Rough life," I muttered, downing the vitamin with lukewarm water. "Physics test tomorrow, swim tryouts Friday, and my parents think I'm spending too much time 'gaming' and not enough time 'experiencing the real world.'"

Maya laughed, twisting her wet hair into a bun. "Join the club. Coach says if I don't drop five seconds off my 100-meter freestyle, I'm swimming JV all season. No pressure, right?"

I nodded, sympathetic but distracted. My eyes drifted to the popular table where Lucas sat, laughing at something I'd never understand. He had this way of making everything look effortless—grades, friends, probably breathing correctly.

"Stop staring," Maya whispered. "It's pathetic."

"I'm not staring," I lied. "I'm... observing. There's a difference."

"Right. And I'm not secretly terrified of drowning at tryouts."

That's when Lucas actually walked over. My heart did this stupid little flip.

"Hey," he said, casual as anything. "You still coming to my party Saturday?"

"Uh—" I managed.

"Cool. Bring your goldfish," he joked, referencing mymom's Instagram post about my prize from the school fair. "It needs to get out more."

Maya kicked me under the table. I tried to look smooth and failed.

"Yeah," I said. "Definitely."

After he walked away, Maya practically screamed. "YOU. ARE. WELCOME."

"For what?"

"I literally introduced you two weeks ago at the pool! While you were practicing your pathetic excuse for butterfly stroke? You were flailing like a drowning insect!"

I grinned. Maybe today wasn't so terrible. The spinach still looked sad, the vitamin was chalky, and my zombie-like exhaustion was real. But somewhere in this mess of awkward moments and swim tryouts and boys who noticed you, I was figuring out who I actually was.

Even goldfish have to leave their bowls eventually, right?