Goldfish in the Deep End

The carnival goldfish swam in lazy circles in its plastic bag, mocking me. I'd won it playing ring toss, which made zero sense because I have terrible hand-eye coordination. But there it was—orange and pathetic, just like my social life.

"You bringing that to the party?" Marcus asked, already halfway through his dad's beer stash. He was wearing that stupid bucket hat sideways, the one he thought made him look like Drake but actually made him look like a suburban golf dad.

"Shut up," I said, clutching the bag tighter. "Her name is Coral."

"You named it? Bro, it's gonna die in two days. Goldfish from carnivals are basically disposable."

I thought about throwing Coral at his face. Instead, I tucked the bag into my hoodie pocket like it was contraband and headed toward the pool.

The Johnsons' pool was already chaos—waterlogged bodies, too much sunscreen smell, speakers blasting something with too much bass. I spotted Chloe immediately because my brain hates me. She was in this black one-piece that should've been basic but somehow wasn't, hair slicked back, laughing at something that wasn't even funny.

I'd been crushing on Chloe since seventh grade, which was approximately forever in teenage years. My approach strategy had always been the same: exist near her without making eye contact and hope telepathy worked. (It didn't.)

"Hey!" someone yelled. "Truth or dare in the shallow end!"

I ended up in the circle, Coral's bag floating next to me like a weird orange balloon. Someone dared Chloe to kiss the quietest person there. My heart straight-up stopped. Then Marcus, that absolute menace, shouted: "Not him! He's got a HAT on."

He pointed at me. I wasn't wearing a hat.

"What?" I said.

Marcus's eyes locked on the plastic bag. "Under the hood. I dare you to wear the goldfish on your head."

Everyone stared. This was it—my social execution. But then Chloe laughed, not mean-laughed but actually laughed, and said, "Do it. I bet you won't."

So I did it. I dumped Coral into my oversized beanie and pulled it over my hair. The fish flopped once, twice. I looked insane. I felt insane.

Chloe swam over, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the deep end. The hat fell off. Coral swam away into the chlorine, bright and determined, like she understood that survival sometimes meant completely losing your dignity first.

"You're weird," Chloe said, treading water beside me. "But like, in a good way."

Coral made it to the filter intake, alive somehow. Marcus's hat sank. And for once, I didn't want to be anywhere else.