Goldfish Memories and Finish Lines

The bathroom mirror confirmed it: I looked exactly like a **zombie**. Three hours of sleep before sophomore year's first house party would do that to anyone. I splashed cold water on my face, practiced my cool-guy smirk in the reflection, failed, and headed back into the chaos.

Jordan's house was packed. I weaved through the crowd until I found him — the **bull** of the social hierarchy, holding court in the kitchen like he owned everything. Jordan had that gravitational pull that made everyone orbit around him, myself included. He was mid-story, something about track regionals, arms moving, everyone laughing at parts that weren't even jokes.

"Yo! Mateo!" He spotted me. "Grab some fruit, my mom went full tropical."

I stared at the bowl. **Papaya**. Who served papaya at a high school party? Jordan was trying too hard, same as always. I picked up a piece anyway, pretended it was good, and tried to disappear.

"Bro, are you actually **running** varsity this year?" Marcus asked from somewhere behind me. "Or is that just rumors?"

My stomach dropped. I'd been **running** since seventh grade, early morning practices, exhausted afternoons, shin splints that kept me up at night. But varsity? That was real. That mattered.

"Yeah," I managed. "Varsity."

The group went quiet. Jordan stopped mid-laugh. I waited for it — the undercut, the dismissal, the whatever.

"Cool," Jordan said. "That's actually sick."

Something in my chest loosened. I excused myself to the backyard, found an old plastic lawn chair, and let myself breathe. The party noise filtered through the sliding glass door, muffled and distant. I thought about my **goldfish** from third grade, the one that lived for way longer than it should have, swimming in its tiny bowl, just doing its thing, existing without apology.

Maybe that was all any of us were doing anyway.

I pulled out my phone, added a reminder: *Tomorrow's practice: 5 AM.* The screen illuminated my face in the darkness. I didn't look like a zombie anymore. Just some kid figuring it out, one piece of weird fruit and onevarsity hopeful at a time.