Goldfish Funeral at the Pool Party

The pool party was already in full swing when I arrived, my oversized bucket hat practically swallowing my head. I'd dyed my hair purple two days ago—a total disaster that looked more like a bruised grape than the vibrant lavender I'd imagined—so the hat stayed put. Consider it my emotional support hat.

"Maya! You made it!" Lily yelled from the pool, splashing water everywhere. Her older brother Kevin sat poolside, shirtless, scrolling through his phone. My stomach did that thing it always did when he was around. I adjusted my hat and prayed the heat wouldn't melt me into a puddle of awkward.

"My goldfish died this morning," Lily announced suddenly, apropos of nothing.

"Bubbles?" I asked, impressed by my ability to sound casual.

"We buried him under the tomato plant," she said solemnly. "He had a good life. Two whole months."

Kevin snorted. "He was a fish, Lil. He swam in circles and ate flakes. It's not like he was out there living his best life."

"He was free," she insisted. "Now he's fish food."

Something about that hit me weirdly. Maybe it was because I'd been feeling like a goldfish lately—swimming in circles through sophomore year, waiting for something to happen while everyone else seemed to be living actual lives.

I pulled off my hat. The purple hair wasn't that bad. Actually, it was kind of fire. Kevin looked up.

"Nice hair," he said. "Bold move."

My cat Clem would be proud. She'd been knocking things off shelves for years, teaching me that sometimes you just gotta cause chaos to get noticed.

"Thanks," I said, and for the first time all day, I didn't feel like hiding. Lily climbed out of the pool and dragged me toward the deep end.

"Life's short, Maya," she said. "Bubbles didn't even get to see you being brave. Don't waste it."

So I jumped into the pool, purple hair streaming behind me like a flag, finally learning how to swim forward instead of in circles.