Goldfish & Papaya Storm

The carnival goldfish lived exactly three days in my bedroom before floating belly-up. RIP Neptune, you were barely even a pet.

"That's depressing," Chloe said, handing me a plastic cup at Jessica's party. "You need fruit. It's scientifically proven to improve mood." She pointed to the fruit bowl on the counter. "Ever tried papaya?"

"No?" I said, fidgeting with my cup. Parties weren't really my thing. I was 15 and still figuring out how to exist in rooms without feeling like everyone was silently judging everything I did.

Chloe—perfect hair, perfect grades, actually looked people in the eye when she talked—scooped some bright orange chunks onto a plate. "Try it. It's like if mango and melon had a glow-up baby."

I took a bite. "Okay, that's actually decent."

"Told you." She leaned against the counter, suddenly more serious. "So, Neptune. What happened?"

"Overfed him? Forgot to change the water? Take your pick. I'm basically a fish murderer."

She laughed, and something about it felt real—not the performative laugh she used around the popular crowd. "Dude, I killed three succulents this semester. Those plants are supposed to be impossible to kill. My mom says I have a black thumb."

"Black thumb?" I cracked a smile. "That's not a thing."

"It is now. I'm trademarking it."

Then lightning flashed through the sliding glass doors, illuminating her face for just a second. Someone turned up the music. Chloe hesitated, then said, "Hey, you want to get some air? This is getting loud."

We ended up on the back porch, watching the storm roll in. Another flash of lightning, closer this time.

"Neptune deserved better," I said suddenly. "Maybe I should name the next one something less dramatic. Like... Steve."

"Steve the goldfish," she nodded. "Resilient. dependable. Honestly, respect the naming glow-up."

When thunder finally cracked directly overhead, she didn't even flinch. "You know what?" she said. "We should get you another fish. But this time we research properly. No more Neptune tragedies."

"We?"

"Yeah. I'm in this now. Steve 2.0 is gonna LIVE."

And somewhere between the lightning and the papaya and the most embarrassing fish story I'd ever told, I made my first real friend in high school.

RIP Neptune. Thanks for the assist, buddy.