Goldfish & Other Ghosts

The carnival goldfish bowl sat on my nightstand, its single inhabitant — a orange speck I'd named Nacho — floating sideways. Dead. Again.

"Dude, you need to stop winning these," Maya said, peering over my shoulder. She was wearing my hoodie, the zipper halfway up like she always did. "That's three goldfish in two months."

"They're defective," I muttered, but we both knew it wasn't the fish. It was me.

I grabbed the vitamin gummies from my desk — the ones my mom swore would help with "focus and energy" — and downed three. Like that would fix anything. I'd been running on fumes and caffeine since cross country season started, basically a zombie shuffling through AP Chem and practice and endless group chats that blew up at midnight.

"Big meet tomorrow," Maya said softly. She knew. She always knew.

"Yeah." I grabbed my phone. 47 unread messages. Most from the group chat where Tyler and his crew were probably still talking shit. Tyler, who'd made it his mission to be my personal bull in the hallway, knocking books out of hands, "accidentally" tripping me in the cafeteria. Classic intimidation tactics, terrifying in how petty they were.

"You're gonna crush it," Maya said. "You've been working so hard."

"What if I don't?" The words came out before I could stop them. "What if I freeze up like last time?"

"Then you don't. You try again. That's what runners do."

I looked at Nacho, floating there like a tiny orange ghost. First place prize from the ring toss booth, where I'd spent forty dollars because Maya said she wanted one. First time I'd felt cool in months, tossing those rings like I actually had game. She'd kissed my cheek afterward, and my brain had short-circuited for three straight days.

Now the fish was dead, and tomorrow was districts, and Tyler was probably planning something fresh and terrible for Monday.

"Running's just... putting one foot in front of the other," Maya said, reading my mind. "You don't have to be fast. You just have to not stop."

I dumped Nacho in the trash. Another ghost laid to rest. Tomorrow I'd run. Maybe I'd win. Maybe Tyler would have new material. Maybe I'd finally tell Maya that hoodie looked better on her than it ever did on me.

Baby steps. Literally.