Goldfish & Other Failures

The plastic bag sloshed against my leg as I booked it down the boardwalk, doing the unofficial teen sprint toward anywhere but here. Behind me, Jordan's laugh echoed like something out of a coming-of-age movie I definitely wasn't the star of. My hair, which I'd spent forty minutes curling because I read somewhere that looked effortless, was now sticking to my forehead in the most effortful way possible.

"Leo! You forgot your bear!"

I stopped. Turned. There she was, holding up the two-foot teddy bear I'd won at the ring toss, which was now even more embarrassing than the fact that I'd played ring toss in the first place. But I couldn't just leave him there.

"His name is Clarence," I said, which was worse.

Jordan's grin was all teeth and sunset. "Obviously." She Clarence-snatched the bear back toward her chest like I'd threatened him. "So, about that palm reading—"

"Nope. Never happened."

"She said you're going to have a great summer."

"She also said I'm going to be a late bloomer, which feels redundant at this point."

The carnival lights flickered on as the sky turned that perfect bruised-purple that makes everything feel possible and also like your heart might actually explode. The goldfish in my bag—whom I'd mentally named Escape Artist—swam around in increasingly frantic circles. I needed to get him to a bowl before I became a fish murderer AND the guy who abandoned his bear AND the guy who ran away from the cute girl who kept talking to him despite all evidence to the contrary.

"You need a ride?" Jordan called.

I almost said yes. But something about how she was already walking toward me made it feel like surrendering.

"I've got it," I said.

"You're walking home? In the dark? With a fish?"

"It's four blocks."

"And Clarence?"

"He's coming."

"Cool." She fell into step beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I think I can bear with you."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "That was terrible."

"You smiled though."

We walked the four blocks in the kind of silence that only happens when you're sixteen and the universe is suddenly holding its breath. The fish lived. The bear made it. And somewhere between the boardwalk and my front porch, I think I might have too.