Goldfish Glory

The block party was supposed to be lame, but then I saw it.

"Dude, you have to ride the mechanical bull," Dylan said, already hyped.

I shook my head. Hard pass. I was the guy who won a goldfish at the spring carnival and named it Gladiator because I thought it sounded tough. That was the level of risky I operated at.

Gladiator swam in his bowl on my nightstand, judging me.

"Everyone's watching," Dylan pointed out. "Jordan's group is literally poolside staring."

I glanced toward the pool area. Sure enough, Jordan and her friends were hanging out, looking annoyingly effortless in their swimsuits. Jordan, who I'd had a crush on since seventh grade. Jordan, who didn't know I existed.

"If you fall off in three seconds, you owe me twenty bucks," Dylan said.

"And if I stay on longer than that?"

"Then you're officially not the boring friend."

Ouch.

The operator strapped me in, adjusted settings, asked if I wanted to go easy on me.

"No," I said, surprising myself. "Do your worst."

The bull jerked to life, and suddenly I was clinging to fake leather like my life depended on it. People were cheering, laughing, recording. I could hear Dylan screaming something unintelligible. Through the chaos, I caught Jordan watching from the pool edge, actually watching, and something shifted.

I wasn't just the goldfish guy anymore. I was the idiot riding a mechanical bull at a block party, and honestly? That was way more interesting.

The bull spun violently. I lasted seven seconds before flying off into the inflatable mat, breathless but grinning like an idiot.

Dylan pulled me up, slapping my back. "That was legit!

Jordan walked over, smiling. "You stayed on longer than Jordan did."

Her friend Jordan? Or her? Either way, I'd take it.

"Gladiator would be proud," I said, because I had no game whatsoever.

But she laughed anyway.