Goldfish Memory & Orange Soda

Freshman year hit me like a dodgeball to the face. I went from middle school royalty—where I knew everyone, had the best locker location, and actually understood the social pyramid—to the absolute bottom of a new hierarchy I couldn't decode.

"You're like a goldfish," my sister Jade said, scrolling through TikTok without looking up. "Seven-second memory. That's why you keep embarrassing yourself."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

"I'm serious. At lunch? You sat at the seniors' table. AGAIN."

Okay, she had a point. But in my defense, the table had an empty spot, and I was operating on a goldfish's timeline—I'd literally forgotten about Wednesday's incident where I'd done the exact same thing and gotten that death glare from what I now knew was the varsity football captain's designated seat.

The social pyramid at Northwood High was brutal. Seniors at the apex, juniors below them, sophomores scattered somewhere in the middle, and freshmen? We were basically the foundation—unseen, stepped on, and necessary only for structural integrity.

Then came the Homecoming assembly.

I'd been wearing this orange hoodie for weeks—my comfort object, basically—when I got called down for "student recognition." Principal Miller wanted to highlight incoming freshmen with "exceptional promise," which was code for "your parents donated money" or "you got unlucky."

As I walked across the gym stage—swimming in a hoodie that was two sizes too big, feeling like I was underwater while everyone watched—I tripped. Not a graceful stumble. A full-on, arms-flailing, shoe-squeaking faceplant.

The silence lasted exactly three seconds before someone started slow-clapping.

I wanted to dissolve. To literally evaporate like spilled water on hot pavement.

But then someone laughed. Not mean-laughed. Real-laughed. I looked up to see this girl with orange streaks in her hair, absolutely cracking up. She wasn't laughing at me—she was laughing with me.

"Nice entrance," she whispered when I finally made it backstage. "I'm Luna. Your fall was... artistic."

"Thanks," I said, face still burning. "I call it 'Performance Art: The Social Death of a Freshman.'"

She snorted. "I dig it. Also, nice hoodie."

And just like that, I wasn't swimming alone anymore.

Jade was right about the goldfish thing. But she forgot the most important part: goldfish may have short memories, but they keep swimming anyway. And sometimes, sometimes you find another fish in the tank who thinks your orange scales are pretty cool too.