Goldfish in the Deep End

Marcus stood by the **palm** tree at the edge of Jenny's pool party, nursing a warm soda and feeling like the world's biggest loser. His sister had won that stupid **goldfish** at the county fair last week—the one that died three days later—and Marcus honestly felt like he had about the same memory span for social cues.

"You gonna stand there all night?" His best friend Ty appeared beside him, already smelling like chlorine and expensive cologne. "Everyone's in the pool. Even Sarah."

Sarah. The girl Marcus had been lowkey **running** from all summer because every time she looked at him, his brain short-circuited.

"I'm good," Marcus muttered, but Ty was already shoving him toward the water.

"Dude, you're not being creepy. You're just **swimming**. There's a difference."

Marcus plunged into the cool blue, his thoughts swirling like the water around him. He surfaced to find Sarah floating nearby, her hair sleek and dark like a seal's.

"Hey," she said, treading water. "You Marcus? The one who's really fast at track?"

"Yeah," he managed, his heart doing that weird fluttery thing.

"My cousin says you're like a **fox** on the track field," she grinned. "All sneaky speed and then bam, you're gone."

Marcus laughed. "That's definitely one way to put it."

They talked for twenty minutes about everything and nothing—about how goldfish actually have better memories than people think, about how he hated running until he realized he was good at it, about her obsession with palm reading and how she'd predicted three of her friends' breakups this year.

"Let me see your palm," she said suddenly, reaching across the water.

Marcus hesitated, then extended his hand. Her fingers traced his lifeline, sending electricity up his arm.

"You're going to do something brave this summer," she said softly. "I can tell."

Later that night, Marcus lay in bed staring at his ceiling, the smell of chlorine still on his skin. For once, his goldfish-brain had held onto something worth keeping. Sarah's number in his phone. The memory of her hand on his. The feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't invisible after all.