Goldfish Memory

The pool deck at Jake's house looked like something out of a TikTok — string lights, actual floating LED things, and like fifty people I'd been going to school with since kindergarten but suddenly felt like I'd never met. I stood by the snack table clutching a red Solo cup like it was a lifeline, watching everyone else glide through the social waters with embarrassing ease. Meanwhile, I was basically drowning.

"You good?" Maya appeared beside me, grabbing a handful of chips. "You've been standing here staring at the dip for ten minutes."

"I'm just observing," I lied. "Taking in the scene."

"Mhm." She wiped her hands on her shorts. "Jake's over there by the shallow end. Just saying."

My stomach did that thing it always did when Jake was mentioned — like someone had set off fireworks in my torso. I'd been lowkey obsessed with him since seventh period English when he made that actually funny joke about The Great Gatsby. But every time I tried to talk to him, my brain turned into static.

I took a breath and headed toward the pool, already rehearsing casual opening lines in my head. Hey Jake, having fun? No, too basic. Nice party, the LEDs are super cool. Weirdly specific. What if I just —

Something slammed into my legs.

"BUSTER!" Jake's sister came tearing across the deck, her face the exact shade of a tomato. "I am SO sorry!"

Buster, a golden retriever with zero chill and apparently very wet paws, had decided my denim shorts were the perfect towel. He shook himself enthusiastically, spraying dog-smelling water everywhere. Including all over me. Including all over Jake, who'd just turned to see what the commotion was about.

There was a moment of absolute silence. Then Jake started laughing. Not mean laughing — actual, genuine laughing.

"Buster strikes again," he said, wiping water from his face. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I squeaked. "Just. Blessed by the dog."

"Here." He grabbed a towel from a nearby chair and handed it to me. His fingers brushed mine and I swear my heart flatlined. "Sorry about him. He's literally the worst."

"It's fine," I said, trying to look like getting mauled by an overfriendly retriever was exactly how I'd planned to spend my Friday. "Honestly, I needed an excuse to get out of my head."

Jake smiled, and it was even better up close. "You know what my cousin says about dogs? They're like emotional support animals but with more fur. They can sense when someone's overthinking everything."

Was he — was he saying he noticed I was overthinking? Or was that just a general statement? Why was teen communication so impossible?

"I have a goldfish at home," I found myself saying. "His name is Gerald. He has a three-second memory and he's genuinely living his best life. Sometimes I wish I could be more like Gerald. Just swimming in circles, completely unbothered."

Jake laughed again, and this time I did too. Something about the absolute ridiculousness of the situation — standing there dripping wet with dog water, talking about my depression-era pet fish — broke whatever weird tension I'd been carrying all night.

"You know what?" Jake said. "Let's go sit by the deep end. Away from Buster. And you can tell me more about Gerald's backstory."

As we walked across the deck, I caught Maya's eye from the snack table. She gave me a tiny thumbs-up.

Maybe the water wasn't so deep after all. Or maybe, just maybe, I was finally learning how to swim.