Goldfish in the Dugout

The baseball cap wouldn't sit right. Maya tugged at the brim again, trying to look like she belonged at Jake's game instead of like she'd rather be literally anywhere else. The bleachers smelled like sunscreen and teenage desperation, which was basically eighth grade in a nutshell.

"You're coming, right?" Kai had begged that morning. "It's the championship. Everyone's gonna be there."

Everyone was there. Including Sophia, who was sitting three rows down looking effortlessly perfect in her cutoff denim and somehow making a team merch shirt look like high fashion. Maya adjusted her stupid hat for the fiftieth time and tried to disappear.

The real disaster wasn't even the game. It was the goldfish.

Specifically, the plastic bag containing Kai's prize-winning goldfish (don't ask, the carnival had weird rules) that Maya was somehow responsible for during the seventh inning stretch. The fish was named Papaya because Kai had no impulse control and too much access to exotic fruit.

"Just don't let Papaya die," Kai had said, like it was that simple.

The fish stared at her through the plastic, judgy and orange. Maya was mentally spiraling about how she'd become the person who accidentally killed a live animal at a baseball game when a ball sailed into the stands—directly toward Sophia.

Time slowed down. Maya's body moved before her brain could process what a terrible idea this was. She lunged, Papaya sloshing dramatically, and caught the ball inches from Sophia's face.

The entire section went wild.

"Holy crap, that was insane," Sophia said, actually smiling at her.

Maya stood there holding a baseball in one hand and a very confused goldfish in the other, heart hammering, hat completely askew. Sophia's friends were looking at her like she was interesting. Like she was a person who did cool things instead of just Kai's awkward sister who hid in oversized hoodies.

"Nice catch," Sophia said. "Want to sit with us?"

Papaya the goldfish swam in lazy circles, completely unbothered by being an accidental wingman. Maya finally fixed her hat, actually smiled, and realized maybe eighth grade wasn't going to be terrible after all.

Even if she was still stuck carrying a fish named after tropical fruit.