Goldfish in the Storm

The carnival goldfish—now ironically named Lightning after the neon orange streaks dyed in my hair—swam in circles in its bowl on my nightstand. My phone buzzed. Caleb.

"u still coming over? parents gone."

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering. We'd been flirting for weeks, that middle school will-they-won't-they energy that makes everything feel huge and terrifying. This was it. The moment.

"omw"

Thunder cracked as I grabbed my backpack. Inside: the questionable black crop top from Urban (hopeless but necessary), emergency deodorant, and Lightning's bowl—because no way was I leaving my emotional support fish alone during a storm.

The cable guy was supposed to fix our internet yesterday. Still broken. I couldn't Uber. I had to walk eight blocks in the rain because my life was literally a comedy.

By the time I reached Caleb's porch, I looked like a drowned rat wearing too much eyeliner. He opened the door, all cozy in his gray hoodie that made his jawline look insane.

"Hey." He grinned. "You look... intense."

"It's called AESTHETIC, Caleb."

Lightning's bowl slipped. Water splashed my Skechers. The fish flopped on the porch.

We both froze.

"Is that..." Caleb's eyes went wide. "Is that a goldfish named Lightning?"

"SHE'S emotionally significant!" I yelled as thunder shook the house.

Caleb dropped to his knees, scooping up my fish with bare hands. And that's when it happened—the most romantic moment of my life, ruined immediately.

"BEAR!" his little sister screamed, bursting outside with a massive stuffed grizzly. "LOOK AT MY—"

She stopped. Stared at Caleb, dripping wet, holding a flopping fish. Stared at me, looking like a gothic disaster.

"Are you two... fish sitting?"

We died. We literally died laughing right there on the porch, Lightning swimming in Caleb's hands like some confused oracle, while his sister's giant bear judged us from the doorway.

"So," Caleb said later, when we'd finally established Lightning in their kitchen and the storm had slowed to whispers. "You want to order pizza? My treat."

"Only if you let me pick the toppings."

"Deal. But no pineapple. That's where I draw the line."

I watched him from across the counter, the way he leaned against the fridge like he belonged there. Maybe fish disasters weren't exactly the romantic comedy moment I'd pictured. But the way he looked at me when he thought I wouldn't notice?

Some things were worth waiting for.