Goldfish in the Storm

Marcus stood in front of his mirror, practicing his deep voice. "You got this."

But he didn't got this. Not really.

Tonight was Emma's house party—the first party of junior year—and Marcus had been crushing on Emma since seventh period English when she'd laughed at his terrible pun about commas. He'd been working on his comeback game ever since, but social situations still felt like walking through a minefield blindfolded.

"You're overthinking it," his older sister, Jasmine, said from the doorway. "Just chill. Be yourself."

Easy for her to say. Jasmine was the one who'd once talked down a **bear** at a family camping trip by offering it a granola bar and some spiritual advice. Marcus could barely talk to his crush without forgetting what words were.

The party was already chaos when he arrived. Someone had brought those tiny alcohol bottles stolen from their parents' liquor cabinet. The bass was thumping like a second heartbeat. And then he saw Tyler.

Tyler, the human **bull** in every china shop he entered, currently cornering Emma near the refreshments.

"Yo, Marcus!" Tyler called out, way too loud. "You finally made it! I was just telling Emma about that time you—"

"Don't," Marcus said, but Tyler was already in full storytelling mode, recounting the Great Incident of Freshman Year when Marcus had gotten his tongue stuck to a frozen pole during a dare. Emma was laughing, but not with him. Definitely at him.

Marcus's face burned. He bolted toward the back deck, needing air.

Outside, the sky was that weird purple-gray color that meant **lightning** was coming. And there, in a glass bowl on the patio table, swam a lone **goldfish**, staring at him with what looked like judgment in its tiny fish eyes.

"Yeah, I know," Marcus told it. "I'm pathetic."

A raindrop hit the bowl. Then another. The goldfish swam in frantic circles.

And suddenly, Marcus wasn't thinking about Tyler or Emma or his stupid frozen pole incident. He was thinking about this fish, about to get poured onto the patio because someone had left it outside during a storm.

"Oh hell no," he said.

He grabbed the bowl, sprinting back inside just as thunder cracked. Water sloshed everywhere. Everyone stared.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked, but she was smiling now, actually smiling, and for the first time all night, Marcus didn't feel like a joke.

"Saving Gilbert," he said, naming the fish on the spot. "Anyone got a better bowl?"

Emma disappeared and came back with a proper tank. They transferred the fish together, shoulders brushing, and she said, "That was actually kind of heroic."

"Yeah?" Marcus asked, feeling that lightning-strike clarity again. "Well, Gilbert deserves better."

"Totally," Emma said. "Hey, you want to get out of here? This party's lame anyway."

They ended up at the diner down the street, talking until 2 AM about everything and nothing. Marcus didn't even think about his practiced deep voice once.

Sometimes, the best moments aren't the ones you plan for. They just sort of swim into your life when you're busy saving goldfish from storms.