Goldfish Operations

The goldfish was supposed to be a metaphor for my entire freshman year at Northwood High. Swimming in circles. Going nowhere. Watching everything happen from behind glass.

His name was Commander Fin. I'd scoop flakes into his bowl every morning while briefing him on my latest intelligence.

"Target acquired," I'd whisper, checking my phone to see if Maya had posted anything new. Maya Chen, who somehow made sitting in cafeteria look like a performance art. Who wore vintage band tees and had that perfect messy-black-girl-hair that everyone tried to copy and failed.

I was basically her personal spy. Not in a creepy way. Okay, maybe a little creepy. But in my defense, I'd accidentally memorized her schedule by September. Third period locker: 217A (down the hall from my 212). Lunch: usually table 4, sometimes 2 when the drama kids were rehearsing.

"She likes fruit," I told Fin one Tuesday, zooming in on her Instagram story. "She posted about mangoes."

Fin did a contemplative bubble.

So when our paths finally crossed at Sarah's Halloween party—Maya in a thrifted blazer, me in my dad's old radio headset—I was ready with Operation Papaya.

"You're that quiet kid from English, right?" She asked, grabbing a handful of chips.

"Leo," I managed. "You're Maya."

"No dip, genius." She grinned. "What's your deal? You always look like you're calculating something."

I was. I was calculating that I had exactly forty-five seconds before Jason showed up to monopolize her attention.

"I brought this." I pulled the papaya from my backpack. Still in its ridiculous plastic grocery store bag, fuzzy and alien-looking. "Saw you liked exotic fruit. Thought you might want to try... papaya?" (Why did my voice crack on the last word? I was fourteen. Everything cracked.)

Maya stared at it. Then at me. Then burst out laughing—not mean-laughing, but the real kind.

"Wait, you carried a papaya to a party?"

"It seemed like a good idea at 7 AM."

"Leo," she said, "this is simultaneously the weirdest and most thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for me." She sliced it open with a kitchen knife, seeds spilling everywhere like tiny pearls. "You trying to spy on my life or something?"

I froze. "Is it that obvious?"

She handed me a wedge. Sunsets-orange and impossibly sweet. "Only the parts where you're staring at me across the cafeteria. But hey." She bumped my shoulder. "At least you're not subtle about it. That's kinda brave, right?"

We sat on the back porch sharing a papaya while Fin waited at home, swimming his same circles.

But something had changed. I wasn't behind the glass anymore.