Goldfish in the Cable Box

The detention room smelled like desperation and old pencils. I stared at the clock while Mr. Harrison droned on about responsibility, but my brain was still stuck on lunch.

I'd been sitting with Maya—the actual Maya, not my imagination version—and I'd said something smooth. Or what I thought was smooth. Instead, somehow, I ended up aggressively defending how much I loved spinach. Like, weirdly passionate about it. She'd looked at me like I'd grown a second head.

'So,' she'd said, 'you're really into leafy greens?'

And I, in my infinite wisdom, had doubled down. 'Honestly? The crunchier the better. I eat it raw. Like chips.'

The silence had been excruciating.

Now detention was ending, and my phone buzzed. Mom. Again. The cable was out, and she was convinced it was my fault. Never mind that I hadn't touched the cable box since I accidentally programmed it to Spanish last month.

'I swear to god, Leo, if I miss my show...'

I walked home with my hood up, replaying the spinach incident. Why had I said that? WHO gets worked up about spinach?

The living room was chaos when I got there. Dad was pulling at wires behind the TV like a frustrated magician. 'It's the bull in a china shop approach,' he muttered, sweating. 'Just gotta find the right—'

Then I saw it. The cable box door was open. And inside, swimming in what I really hoped was water from a spilled glass, was a goldfish.

'Is that...?'

'Stillwater,' Dad said, defeated. 'Your sister won it at the fair. She said he needed a "bigger enclosure."'

Maya texted me while Dad was trying to fish out the fish with a spoon.

'So my family has this goldfish living in our cable box now,' I typed. 'He's watching all our shows before we do.'

Three dots bounced. Then: 'lol that's actually kind of iconic.'

I stared at my phone. Maybe the spinach thing hadn't been that bad. Maybe Stillwater was the hero I needed. Maybe being weird wasn't a personality defect—it was just having a goldfish in your cable box and owning it.

'Stillwater and I,' I typed, 'are starting a podcast.'

She sent back a crying laughing emoji. I set my phone down and felt something in my chest loosen. Whatever happened tomorrow, at least I had a story.