Goldfish in the Deep End

Leo felt like a literal **goldfish** in a bowl most days—just a small, orange guy swimming in circles while everyone else seemed to know exactly where they were going.

"You coming to **padel** practice or what?" Marcus called from the doorway, already dressed in his ridiculous neon gear.

"Do I have a choice?" Leo asked his ceiling.

"You're the new kid, bro. Coach says you've got potential."

Yeah, right. The only thing Leo had potential for was accidentally hitting himself in the face with the racquet. Again.

His dad, a former semi-pro athlete who treated every casual backyard game like the Olympics, had signed him up. "Builds character," he'd said. The same dad who once drunkenly told Leo's friends that Leo had "the heart of a **bull**," which had been both the most embarrassing and most amazing thing anyone had ever said about him.

Now Leo was spending his Friday nights at the sports complex instead of doing literally anything else a normal fourteen-year-old would be doing.

Like spying on Maya's Instagram stories.

Okay, that sounded creepy when he put it that way. It wasn't like he was some actual **spy** or anything. He just... happened to notice when she posted. And maybe had memorized her posting schedule. And maybe knew she liked vintage band tees and hated coconut. Totally normal stuff.

The worst part? Maya played padel too. She was good—like, actually good, not Marcus's idea of good (which mostly involved shirtless victory dances).

"You're overthinking it," his goldfish, Fin, seemed to say from his tank on Leo's desk. Fin had been there through three failed math tests, two crush disasters, and that time Leo tried to dye his hair blue and ended up with something closer to green.

At practice, Maya was already on court 4, her ponytail swinging as she smashed a serve past some poor sophomore.

"Hey, Leo," she called, noticing him. "Wanna play?"

His brain short-circuited. "Uh—what?"

"Padel. You know, with the racquets?" She laughed, and Leo felt his face heat up. "Unless you're scared to lose to a girl?"

"Challenge accepted," he said, way too confidently for someone who had exactly zero experience.

Twenty minutes later, he was somehow, miraculously, not completely terrible. Maya was patient, correcting his grip without making him feel stupid. When she finally suggested they hit the pool afterward, Leo could practically hear Fin cheering from his tank back home.

They spent an hour just **swimming** laps and talking about everything and nothing—how much they both hated algebra, whether pineapple belonged on pizza (it didn't), and how weird it was that their parents actually thought they enjoyed these "character-building" activities.

"You know," Maya said, leaning against the pool edge, "you're actually pretty chill. Most of the guys on the team are total show-offs."

Leo's heart did this little flip thing that he was pretty sure wasn't medically advisable.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I'm just here for the free snacks."

And okay, maybe he wasn't a goldfish swimming in circles anymore. Maybe he was just a regular fish, slowly figuring out which way was up. And that felt like plenty for now.