Goldfish in the Storm

The lobby aquarium cast blue shadows across my face as I sprinkled fish flakes into the water. Another Friday evening at the country club, watching everyone else live their best lives while I played goldfish caretaker. The three fish stared back, their mouths opening and closing in what looked like judgment.

"You gonna finish that or just stare at them all night?"

I jumped, nearly dumping the entire container into the tank. Maya. Of course. She was wearing that vintage NBA jersey she'd thrifted, the one that made her look effortlessly cool while I felt like a walking cringe compilation.

"Just feeding the fish," I mumbled. "Unlike you, I don't have natural talent."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She leaned against the glass, checking her reflection. Her curls were pulled back with a claw clip, exposing a neck that seemed impossibly long and elegant.

"You're out there playing padel with the popular kids. I'm in here with..." I gestured at the fish. "Literal goldfish."

She laughed, but it wasn't mean. "You know, I lost that game on purpose."

"Why?"

"Because Tyler was being weird about it." She moved closer. "Can I tell you something?"

The lights flickered. Outside, thunder rattled the glass doors. A storm had been threatening all afternoon, the sky turning that strange greenish color that meant trouble.

"My parents got divorced because my dad couldn't commit to anything," she said suddenly. "Not my mom, not his job, not even me and my sister. He was like—always somewhere else, you know?"

"I know the feeling," I said quietly. "My dad's basically a ghost who pays half the mortgage."

"Exactly." She reached into the fish food container, taking a pinch of flakes. "So when Tyler tried to kiss me after the match, I panicked. I felt like I was going to throw up. I felt like I was underwater, like everything was muffled and far away. And then I saw you through the glass, feeding the fish, and you looked so calm. Like you actually knew who you were."

"I was just feeding fish, Maya."

"No, you weren't." She tossed the flakes into the tank, and the fish swarmed to the surface. "You were doing something real. Something that mattered. Padel's just a game. Feeding fish is keeping something alive. There's a difference."

A flash of lightning illuminated the entire lobby, turning everything white and shadowless for a split second. Thunder followed immediately, shaking the floor beneath us. The lights died completely, plunging us into darkness except for the emergency exit signs and the aquarium's soft blue glow.

"I'm afraid I'm going to be like my dad," I said into the darkness. "That I'll never be able to—"

"Stay?" Her voice was soft now. "Me too. That's why I'm telling you this. I don't tell anybody anything real. Not anymore."

I could barely see her, just a silhouette against the blue light. But I could hear her breathing, and I could smell her perfume, something like vanilla and rain.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, and it wasn't until I said it that I realized it was true.

"Good," she said. "Because I think I might be starting to like the fish feeder."

We stood there in the blue light as the storm raged outside, and for once, I didn't feel like the goldfish in the bowl—observed, contained, limited. I felt like the storm itself. Wild and electric and absolutely possible.