Goldfish, Good Luck

The goldfish—named Captain Fin by the fifth graders—swam in slow, meaningless circles inside the plastic bowl on my desk. Mrs. Henderson had entrusted him to me for winter break like I was somehow responsible. Like I could keep anything alive when I could barely keep my own social life from suffocating.

"You coming to Jake's party tonight?" Marcus asked, dropping into the seat beside me. His golden retriever, Buster, waited outside the classroom door, tail thumping against the linoleum. Everyone loved Buster. Everyone loved Marcus. That's how it worked.

"Probably not," I muttered, watching Captain Fin bump his nose against the plastic wall for the fiftieth time. "I've got... stuff."

"Lame." Marcus grinned, but it wasn't mean. Just honest. "Sarah's gonna be there. You've been crushing on her since September, dude. At some point, you gotta face the bull."

The bull. Jake's dad kept this mechanical bull in his basement, apparently, because suburban dads in Texas were predictable like that. Last time I'd tried riding it, I'd lasted 1.3 seconds before face-planting in front of everyone.

Captain Fin did another lap. The guy had no concept of embarrassment. No concept of anything beyond his tiny plastic universe.

"You know what my sister says?" I said suddenly. "She says goldfish have a three-second memory. They forget everything instantly. Every loop around the bowl is basically a new adventure."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Okay...?"

"I'm saying maybe that's not a curse. Maybe that's the dream." I stood up, Captain Fin's water sloshing dangerously. "I'm in. Tonight."

Three hours later, I found myself staring at the mechanical bull like it was a portal to another dimension. Someone had drawn googly eyes on it with a Sharpie. Sarah was across the room, laughing at something Jake had said, and my stomach twisted itself into knots that Captain Fin couldn't have navigated with a map.

Then Buster—Marcus's dog—came trotting in from somewhere, snagged a slice of pizza off a paper plate, and promptly knocked over a speaker stand.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

Sarah rushed over to help corral Buster. I rushed over too because—well, because I wasn't thinking. We ended up on the floor, both of us holding onto different parts of the dog's collar, laughing so hard our stomachs hurt.

"This is ridiculous," she said, looking at me with these impossibly dark eyes. "You're at my school, right? English?"

"Yeah," I managed, while Buster licked my chin. "I sit two rows behind you. I always have this pen that doesn't work."

"I've seen that," she said. "Why don't you get a new one?"

"I keep forgetting."

"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard." But she was smiling. "You should ride the bull."

"What?"

"The bull. Ride it. I'll ride it after you."

So I did. I climbed onto that Sharpie-eyed mechanical monstrosity while everyone watched, Sarah's promise hanging in the air like a challenge. Jake hit the button.

I lasted 4.6 seconds.

When I hit the inflatable mat, the room spun, my shoulder throbbed, and people were cheering—actually cheering. Sarah high-fived me when I stood up, then climbed on herself and lasted seven glorious seconds before laughing as she slid off.

Later, walking home with Captain Fin's bowl clutched carefully in both hands, I realized something: goldfish probably don't actually have three-second memories. Scientists probably proved that wrong years ago. But maybe the point wasn't about forgetting.

Maybe the point was about swimming forward anyway.

Captain Fin did another loop around his bowl. I did another loop down my street.

Some circles were worth repeating.