Goldfish in the Deep End

The day I accidentally killed my sister's goldfish was also the day I finally spoke to Kyle at the neighborhood pool. Life has a way of stacking moments like that—beautiful disasters.

"Fishy's dead," Maya announced at breakfast, sliding the bowl across the table like a peace offering. Our parents were too busy fighting about the cable bill to notice. Again.

I stared at the goldfish floating sideways. Technically, I'd forgotten to feed it for three days while binge-watching that new show everyone at school was quoting. The guilt was somewhere in my throat, blocking actual words.

"Sorry," I managed.

Mayia shrugged. "It's fine. He was boring anyway. Besides, Mom says we can go to the rec center today."

The pool. Where Kyle definitely would be, because his older brother worked the front desk and gave everyone free passes.

I'd spent the entire school year sitting behind Kyle in biology, watching the way his hair curled when it dried from swim practice, memorizing the back of his neck like it was exam material. We'd spoken exactly zero words outside of group projects.

Now I stood at the edge of the pool, clutching my towel like a shield, while Kyle pulled himself from the **water** with that effortless grace that made my stomach do actual gymnastics. Beads of **water** dripped down his arms. I was going to pass out.

"Hey," he said, shaking **water** from his hair like a golden retriever. "You're Maya's sister, right? From bio?"

"Yeah," I squeaked. "I'm—"

"I know who you are," he said, and my brain short-circuited. "You always draw those little fish in the margins of your notes."

I felt my face heat up. "Oh. Yeah. That's... weird."

"Nah, it's cool." He leaned back against the pool edge, casual as anything. "So what happened to your **goldfish**?"

"What?"

"Your Instagram story. From this morning. The RIP post."

Oh. I'd posted that as a joke, not thinking anyone actually paid attention to my stories.

"Oh my god, did I actually post that?" I covered my face. "Please tell me you didn't see that."

Kyle laughed—really laughed, not the polite chuckle he gave teachers. "It's kinda hilarious, though. One time my little brother's turtle escaped and we found it three days later behind the TV, still alive. That thing was a tank."

"A turtle tank," I said, groaning at my own joke.

"That was awful," he said, grinning. "I love it."

For twenty minutes, we sat on the pool edge talking about nothing and everything—our weird siblings, how the **cable** at my house had been out for weeks (which explained my show-binge context), his dream of becoming a marine biologist. I learned he had a dimple on his left cheek when he really smiled.

Then his brother called him over to help with something.

"Hey," Kyle said, standing up and dripping **water** everywhere. "You should come to the bonfire at Miller's Cove tonight. Everyone's gonna be there."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. Wear that swimsuit." He winked. "And maybe draw me a fish sometime."

As he walked away, Maya appeared beside me, staring after him.

"Did you just flirt with Kyle Anderson?" she demanded. "THE Kyle Anderson?"

"I don't know," I said, watching him laugh with his friends by the diving board. "Did I?"

"You've got to be **bearing** it right now," she said, using our dad's terrible pun phrase for keeping it together. "That was actually smooth."

I thought about the dead **goldfish** at home, the unpaid **cable** bill, the way my hands shook a little. Then I thought about Kyle asking me to a bonfire.

"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe I'm finally learning to swim."