Goldfish Operations

The pool shimmered like liquid Jolly Rancher, blue and artificially perfect in Jenny's backyard. I stood behind the partially closed sliding glass door, feeling like the world's most awkward spy. My mission: determine whether Tyler actually liked Sarah, or if he was just being, you know, Tyler.

"You're being ridiculous," Maya had said earlier. "Just go to the party."

Easy for her to say. Maya existed in every group chat, floated effortlessly between friend groups. I was the human equivalent of that one goldfish your cousin won at the carnival—the kind that everyone forgets about until it's floating at the top.

I watched through the glass. Tyler cannonballed into the pool, sending water cascading over Sarah's精心 arranged towel. She laughed, flipping her wet hair like a Pantene commercial. Perfect Sarah, who never had cat hair on her clothes or said "you too" when waiters told her to enjoy her meal.

My phone buzzed. Maya: *well?*

*Operation: still gathering intel,* I typed.

Suddenly, Tyler climbed out of the pool and started walking toward the house. Toward me. Panic mode activated. I dove behind the kitchen island like this was some low-budget spy movie, knocking over a bowl in the process. Goldfish crackers spilled everywhere—classic.

The sliding door opened. "Yo, whose goldfish are these?"

I peeked over the counter. Tyler stood there dripping pool water, holding up the bowl like it was evidence.

"Uh, mine," I squeaked.

"Sick." He grinned. "You coming out or what? We're doing chicken fights."

My brain short-circuited. Chicken fights? Me? The person whose coordination could best be described as "tragic"?

"Sure," I heard myself say.

And just like that, I wasn't spying anymore. I was living. The goldfish crackers could wait.