Goldfish Operations

The country club parking lot felt like entering a different dimension. My beat-up converse stuck out like a sore thumb among the BMWs and Range Rovers. Mom insisted this summer job would be "good for my resume," but honestly? It felt like social suicide.

"You're on pond duty," Carlos said, barely looking up from his phone. "Keep an eye on the goldfish situation. Some kids thought it would be hilarious to feed them pizza last week."

Goldfish. Because obviously, the most important thing at a literal country club was making sure the fancy fish didn't get indigestion.

I spent the morning watching the orange flashes dart between lily pads, pretending I wasn't low-key spying on the padel courts nearby. That's where *she* played—Maya Rodriguez, who somehow made looking athletic and effortless seem like a personality trait. She'd serve, and I'd practically forget to breathe.

The worst part? She'd caught me staring. Twice.

"You know, you're not exactly subtle," a voice said behind me.

I jumped, nearly knocking over the fish food container. Maya stood there, holding a padel racquet, sweat glistening on her forehead like she'd walked straight out of a sports commercial that made regular people feel inadequate.

"I was just... the fish." Brilliant. Truly inspiring.

She laughed, and something in my chest did this weird flutter thing that had nothing to do with the goldfish.

"The fish, huh?" She sat beside me on the bench. "I'm Maya, by the way."

"Leo."

"Nice to meet you, Leo. So what's the deal with Operation Goldfish Protection?"

I found myself telling her everything—about how I felt like a total imposter here, how everyone's conversations revolved around vacations and colleges I'd never heard of, how the goldfish were literally my only friends.

"Honestly?" She stretched her legs out. "I've been coming here since I was seven, and I still feel like I'm faking it half the time. Like, who actually enjoys talking about lacrosse and equity firms?"

"Wait, really?"

"Bro, I'd way rather hang out with you and the fish." She gestured at the pond. "At least they don't ask about my GPA."

We sat there until her mom called her for their match, the goldfish flashing orange between us like tiny witnesses to something important starting. Maybe this summer wouldn't be total trash after all.