Goldfish in the Deep End

The pool shimmered like liquid blue jolly ranchers, and somewhere in the chaos of Tyler's end-of-summer blowout, I was losing my mind.

"You gonna actually get in, or just brood by the snack table?" Marcus asked, sliding up beside me. He'd already been swimming for an hour, hair plastered to his forehead like a wet seal.

"I'm observing," I said, even though the truth was simpler: I'd forgotten my swimsuit. Again.

That's when I saw her. Lena. She'd won the goldfish from the ring toss booth at the carnival last weekend, and now she was carrying the plastic bag around like it was a designer purse. The fish—she'd named it Neptune, obviously—was doing slow, contemplative laps in its portable universe.

I'd been spy-crawling through her Instagram stories for three weeks now. Not in a creepy way. In a I-think-you're-rad-and-don't-know-how-to-talk-to-you way. The digital footprint was easy enough to follow. The real-life approach? Apparently impossible.

Then my phone died. Because of course.

"Hey." Lena was suddenly there, pool water dripping from her arms, the goldfish bag bumping against her leg. "Wanna hold him? I'm gonna swim."

She handed me the bag before I could process that I was now responsible for a living creature. Neptune stared at me through layers of plastic and water. His mouth opened and closed in tiny, judgmental O's.

For twenty minutes, I stood guard while Lena dominated the pool with these effortless, perfect strokes someone had definitely taught her at expensive lessons. I watched Marcus do a cannonball that soaked half the party. I watched Tyler's little sister try to drink pool water through a noodle.

And I realized nobody was watching me. Nobody cared that I wasn't swimming. Nobody cared that I'd showed up empty-handed and socially awkward. They were just vibing.

Lena swam over to the edge, slicking her hair back. "He likes you," she said, nodding at the fish.

"Neptune?"

"Yeah. He's not freaking out. Usually he gets stressy with new people."

"We understand each other," I said, and it came out less weird than I expected. "We're both observers."

She laughed. It was this sound that made something behind my ribs do gymnastics. "Well, observer, you wanna come swimming next time? For real?"

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, absolutely."

Later that night, I lay in bed staring at my ceiling, replaying it all. My TV was tuned to some random cable channel I wasn't actually watching, just for the background noise. Neptune would be sleeping somewhere in Lena's room, doing his tiny fish dreams in his bowl on her nightstand.

I'd survived the party. I'd talked to her. I hadn't even drowned.

Some weekends, I thought, you don't just tread water. You learn how to swim.