Goldfish & Orange Soda Summer

The morning swim practice had me feeling like a straight-up zombie. 5 AM practices will do that to you. I dragged myself out of the pool, chlorinated water dripping from my orange team cap — Coach Johnson's idea of school spirit, or punishment, I couldn't tell anymore.

"You're spacing out again, Maya," said Riley, the only senior who talked to me. "Gonna turn into a goldfish with that blank stare."

I forced a laugh. Riley with their perfect freestyle form and effortless cool. Meanwhile, I was over here just trying not to drown in my own anxiety. Literally.

That afternoon, I found myself at the pet store where I worked part-time, staring at this tiny goldfish in the front tank. It kept swimming to the glass, tapping against it like it wanted out. Same, little dude. Same.

"You buying that one?"

I turned to see someone from school — Jamie, from my art class. They had this vibrant orange hair that I'd been lowkey admiring all semester. Bold. Unapologetic. Everything I wasn't.

"No, just... vibing," I said. Why did I always sound so awkward?

"He's been doing that for days," Jamie said, leaning against the counter. "Trying to escape his bowl. Pretty metal, honestly."

Our fingers brushed as they pointed at the fish. My heart did this embarrassingly fluttery thing.

"Want to get out of here?" Jamie asked. "There's this spot by the creek. Not as cool as swimming, but..." They shrugged. "Could be chill."

The goldfish kept swimming in circles, and suddenly I realized: I'd been doing the same thing. Same practice, same anxiety, same everything.

"Yeah," I heard myself say. "Yeah, I'd like that."

As we walked out, I didn't feel so zombie anymore. Maybe coming of age just meant finally deciding to swim toward whatever's waiting outside your bowl.