Goldfish Medicine

The first week of sophomore year, I became friends with a goldfish.

Her name was Neptune, and she lived in a murky bowl on my nightstand — a going-away present from Jordan, who'd moved to Oregon over the summer and left me behind like yesterday's laundry. "Just add water and she'll be fine," Jordan had said, as if friendship was that simple.

Now I spent my days dodging Tyler in the hallways. Tyler was a full-grown bull in a varsity jacket, still angry that I'd quit the football team freshman year. His latest thing was slamming into my shoulder between classes, hard enough to make me drop my books, acting like it was some accident of physics instead of targeted harassment.

"You're taking those gummy things now?" Tyler asked, knocking a bottle of vitamin D supplements out of my hand. They skittered across the cafeteria floor like candy. "What's the matter, getting weak?"

"My mom thinks I'm deficient," I muttered, gathering them up while his friends laughed.

That night I told Neptune everything. She hovered near the glass, her mouth opening and closing like she was actually listening. The internet said goldfish had three-second memories, but I figured that was just something people told themselves to feel superior to animals.

The next morning, I went running.

I hadn't run since quitting football, but something about Tyler's voice and those scattered vitamins made me need to move. I ran until my lungs burned, past the manicured subdivisions where people like Tyler lived, all the way to the old gravel pit on the edge of town.

There was this moment, just as the sun started coming up, when I realized I could keep going. I didn't have to stop. The bull was back in the cafeteria. The friend who'd left was gone. But here, with gravel crunching under my sneakers and air tasting like cold metal, I was just... moving.

That afternoon, I joined cross country.

"Finally found something you're actually good at?" Tyler asked when he saw the uniform.

"Yeah," I said, and something in my voice made him step back. "I guess I did."

That night I sprinkled some extra flakes into Neptune's bowl. She swam to the top, tail flicking. Jordan was gone. Tyler would always be Tyler. But for now, I had a fish who listened, vitamins that actually did make me feel less tired, and five miles of road ahead of me tomorrow morning.

Sometimes the weird things are the ones that save you.