Goldfish Goggles & Other Glitches

The cable frayed exactly as Chase's hand brushed mine. My charging cable—because obviously the universe would choose this moment. My phone died mid-text, right as I'd finally typed "you too" to his maybe-sorta date invitation. Classic

"Your screen went black," Chase said, all tousled hair and easy smile. We were supposed to be studying padel strategies for the community center tournament. Instead, my brain was executing a perfect diagonal lob into the panic zone

"Yeah, battery's been trash lately." I shoved the dead phone into my backpack. "My mom's got me on these new vitamins. Supposed to help with focus but honestly? Just makes me feel like I swallowed a highlighter."

He laughed, and something in my chest performed its own awkward diagonal smash. Chase Anderson. The guy who'd somehow graduated from Reddit forums to my actual kitchen table in three weeks flat

"Wanna see something weird?" I heard myself say. Why did I always do this? The oversharing thing. It was like my brain had no filter between thought and mouth

But then he leaned in, genuinely curious, and suddenly I was pulling my childhood photo album from the shelf. There I was at age seven, wearing oversized goggles, clutching a carnival goldfish in a plastic bag like it was a sacred artifact

"That's—actually kind of iconic?" His nose crinkled. "Wait, is that the same goldfish from-"

"Don't. Even." I groaned. "Goldie lasted three days. Three. The Facebook memorial group my mom made still haunts me."

Chase was laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. Something shifted. The careful curation, the performing version of myself I'd been crafting—just dissolved. We spent the next hour trading embarrassing stories. His padel tournament disaster (served the ball into his own face). My vitamin-fueled dance solo at eighth grade talent show (the choreography was, ahem, influenced by a very specific energy drink)

"So," he said later, standing at my door with his own frayed cable in hand. "Padel tournament Saturday? Still need a partner?"

"Only if you promise not to serve the ball at my face."

"Deal." He paused. "And hey—maybe bring the goggles?"