Goldfish in the Lightning

The county fair smelled like funnel cakes and desperation, which honestly, matched my vibe perfectly. I was clutching a plastic bag containing Larry—my newly won goldfish—while my bestie since forever, Chloe, was busy flirting with Jake from chemistry class behind the Ferris wheel.

"You gonna ride that bull or what?" Chloe had called earlier, pointing at the mechanical bull surrounded by whooping guys from the football team. She'd said it like a challenge, but her eyes said she was already planning the story she'd tell tomorrow: how Maya chickened out, how Maya was *literally* too scared.

The first crack of lightning split the sky like someone tearing through fabric. Thunder rattled the fairgrounds.

Suddenly, the power went dark.

In that weird blue-flash of lightning that followed, I saw everything differently. I saw Jake's hand on Chloe's waist. I saw her laughing at something that wasn't funny, something about me and Larry. I saw the bull operator hitting the emergency stop, people scattering, chaos everywhere.

And I saw my chance.

I climbed onto that mechanical bull in the dark, lightning flashing overhead like strobe lights at a homecoming dance gone wrong. The operator was too busy helping people evacuate to notice me.

I held on with everything, Larry's plastic bag gripped in my teeth like some bizarre prize. The bull wasn't even on, but in that moment, I was riding something bigger—my fear, my fake friendship, the version of myself I'd been performing for everyone since middle school.

When the lights came back on, Chloe found me sitting there in the rain, goldfish safe, hair plastered to my face, feeling more alive than I had in years.

"You're insane," she said, but this time she sounded impressed. Or maybe intimidated.

"No," I said, sliding down and walking away. "I'm just done."

The lightning had cleared something inside me—sometimes it takes getting struck to realize you're the one holding the lightning rod.