Goldfish in the Deep End

Marcus's palm was sweating so bad he could practically fill a swimming pool with it. He stood at the edge of Elena's massive backyard, the California sun beating down on her actual palm trees like they were posing for a magazine. This was the party of the year, and he'd spent forty-five minutes psyching himself up in the bathroom mirror just to walk through the gate.

"Yo, Marcus!" Jake shouted from the pool, splashing water everywhere like an overexcited golden retriever. "Get in here, bro! The water's straight fire!"

Marcus forced a grin. Jake had been his best friend since third grade, back when friendship meant sharing Pokémon cards and not whether you could chug a solo cup without gagging. Now Jake was varsity baseball captain and everything Marcus wasn't: confident, tan, and completely oblivious to how much his life had become a highlight reel.

"I'm good," Marcus called back, though his voice cracked. "Just chillin'."

He wandered over to the decorative pond by the patio, where three goldfish darted through the water like they had somewhere important to be. Stupid fish, he thought. They didn't know they were swimming in circles. They didn't know Elena's parents probably spent more on these fish than Marcus's mom made in a week.

"Nice view, right?"

Marcus jumped. Elena stood there, towel-dripping wet, her hair somehow perfect even when it was a mess. She pointed at the goldfish pond.

"Yeah," he managed. "Deep."

She laughed, and Marcus felt his face burn. "I meant the fish are dumb. They keep forgetting they already ate, so my dad has to be careful not to overfeed them. It's kind of meta, honestly."

Marcus blinked. That was... unexpectedly real.

"Hey," she said, studying him. "You good? You look like you're waiting for a baseball to hit you in the face."

"How'd you know I play?"

"Jake talks about you constantly," she said. "Says you've got the weirdest curveball he's ever seen. That you could've gone varsity if you tried out."

Marcus stared at her. Jake had never said any of that.

"I never tried out because I figured..." he started, then stopped. "Whatever. It doesn't matter."

"What matters," Elena said, "is that you're standing at a pool party fully clothed in ninety-degree heat because you're scared nobody wants you here. And that's dumb, because Jake literally wouldn't shut up about making sure you came."

She grabbed his hand—his palm was somehow sweatier now—and pulled him toward the pool.

"Come on. The water's actually pretty great. And if you're lucky, maybe you'll stop overthinking everything for five seconds."

Marcus let himself be pulled, laughing for real this time. Maybe friendship wasn't about becoming someone else. Maybe it was about finding people who made you feel like you could finally stop swimming in circles.