Goldfish in the Fox's Den

I felt like a literal goldfish floating through sophomore year—invisible, three-second memory span, constantly swimming against the current of high school hierarchy.

"Dude, you're doing it again," Marcus whispered, elbowing me in the ribs. "That creepy spy thing where you stare at Vanessa from across the cafeteria."

I jumped, nearly knocking over my tray. "I'm not spying! I'm observing. There's a difference."

"Whatever. Just eat your spinach before it gets cold."

I stared at the green mush on my plate. Mom had started this health kick after her doctor appointment, which meant our kitchen now looked like a salad bar explosion. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten something that didn't taste like sadness.

Vanessa sat at the popular table, laughing at something Tyler said. Tyler, who had that perfectly messy hair and varsity jacket. Tyler, whose golden retriever—I learned this because I may or may not have followed his Instagram—was named Brody and somehow had more followers than me.

"You know," Marcus said, suddenly serious, "you're never gonna talk to her if you keep treating her like she's in a different species."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the guy who accidentally told Mr. Henderson that his dog walking business was 'ruff' during career day."

Marcus choked on his chocolate milk. "That was legendary, bro. Seriously."

But before I could respond, Vanessa was walking toward our table. My heart did that thing where it forgets how to heart.

"Hey!" She said it like she actually meant it. "I saw your Instagram post about your dog walking gig. My fox terrier, Penny, needs someone next weekend. You interested?"

My brain short-circuited. Fox. Dog. This was happening.

"Yeah! I mean, sure, absolutely."

"Cool." She slid a piece of paper across our table. "Here's my number. For the dog. Obviously."

When she walked away, Marcus held up his hand for a high five. "See? Goldfish no more, my friend. You're officially in the game."

I looked at her number written on a napkin, then at my spinach, and finally at the popular table where Tyler was still laughing like he owned the world. Something shifted inside me—like I'd finally grown legs and could crawl onto land.

"Maybe," I said, carefully folding the napkin. "Maybe."