Goldfish in the Deep End

The summer air smelled like chlorine and cheap sunscreen when I pulled up to Tyler's house. My palms were already sweating through my denim shorts. This was it—the first pool party of sophomore year, and I'd spent the last three weeks **running** every morning just to look less scrawny in a swimsuit. Spoiler alert: it hadn't worked.

I clutched the plastic baggie containing my sister's **goldfish**, Finbar, like my life depended on it. She'd made me promise to watch him during her shift at Smoothie King, and apparently "watch him" meant "bring him to a pool party like a weirdo."

"YO FINCH!" Tyler called from the diving board, chest puffed out like he owned the place. His **pool** was massive—a kidney-shaped oasis with a waterfall and underwater LED lights that probably cost more than my college fund.

Inside, a group was huddled around the TV, some random show paused on **cable**. But everyone stopped when I walked in.

"Is that... a fish?" Maya, the girl I'd been lowkey crushing on since seventh grade, raised an eyebrow. She was wearing this vintage band tee over her swimsuit, and suddenly my throat felt like I'd swallowed a gallon of pool water.

"It's Finbar," I squeaked. "Long story."

The rest was basically a slow-motion disaster. Someone knocked into me—maybe Tyler, maybe my own awkward momentum—and the baggie slipped. Finbar did a perfect Olympic dive into the deep end.

"YOUR FISH IS SWIMMING FREE," Tyler announced like this was the peak of entertainment.

I froze. Humiliation washed over me in waves. I was ready to bolt, ready to **run** all the way home and never show my face again.

Then Maya jumped in.

Literally.

She dove fully clothed into the **pool**, band tee and all, and surfaced cupping Finbar in her hands like she was catching something precious. Water dripped from her hair as she walked over, fish included.

"Finbar, you drama queen," she said, deadpan.

Everyone stared. Then someone snorted. Then Tyler started cracking up. And suddenly I was laughing too—really laughing, not the fake laugh I'd been doing all year.

Maya handed me the fish, her socks squishing with every step. "You good, Finch?"

"Yeah," I said, and for the first time all summer, I actually meant it. "Yeah, I'm good."

Finbar survived. My dignity kind of did too. And maybe, just maybe, sophomore year wouldn't be completely terrible after all.