Goldfish in the Backpack

I won him on a dare. One toss, one ring, and suddenly I'm the proud owner of a goldfish in a plastic bag.

"You're actually keeping him?" Maya stared at me like I'd grown a second head. We'd been best friend since seventh grade, but lately she'd been pulling away, hanging with the popular crowd who wore matching pastel outfits and posted aesthetic papaya pictures at trendy cafes.

"His name is Finley."

"You're such a weirdo." But she said it almost affectionately. Almost.

The problem: my mom's allergic. The solution: Finley lived in my backpack, tucked inside a Tupperware container wrapped in three hoodies. Every morning, I'd slip him fresh water from the bathroom sink before school. Every afternoon, I'd rush home to feed him flakes I'd stolen from my cousin's aquarium supplies.

Two weeks of living like a criminal. Two weeks of Maya watching me with this weird mixture of judgment and fascination.

Then came the Tuesday my backpack tipped over in third period. cable management: zero out of ten. Finley's container slid across the linoleum, water everywhere, Mr. Henderson staring like I'd detonated something.

"Is that... is that a fish?" someone whispered.

My face burned so hot I could feel it radiating. But then Maya was there, shoving her purse at me. "Put him in here."

We spent the rest of the day passing a purse back and forth like we were running some underground fish-smuggling operation. Between classes, she taught me how to make tiny paper airplanes out of spinach-colored notebook paper. We laughed until our sides hurt, like we used to, before everything got weird and complicated.

That night, we sat on my bedroom floor with Finley swimming in a mixing bowl. "Okay, hear me out," Maya said. "We tell your mom he's for a science project. Temporary. Educational. She loves educational."

"You think she'll buy that?"

"We'll make it sound so responsible she won't even question it." She paused. "Like responsible people sneak fish into school in purses."

We laughed until we couldn't breathe. Some things break. Some things just need a little water to keep swimming.