Goldfish Summer

The iPhone notification glowed in my hand: *POOL PARTY @ TAYLOR'S. DONT BE AWKWARD.* Thanks, Maya. Really helpful.

I'd been crushing on Taylor for, like, ever. My hair? A disaster—curly-frizzy-maybe-I'll-just-wear-a-hat situations only. But tonight, I was going to talk to him. Actually talk. Not just exist in his general vicinity.

"Just be chill," I told my reflection, hair gel at the ready. "You got this."

I didn't got this.

The pool shimmered like something from a music video. People were everywhere, laughing, screaming cannonball contests. And there he was—Taylor, dripping wet, laughing at something some girl said. My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to stomach.

Then I saw it: a glass bowl on a patio table, holding a single goldfish. Bubbles. The poor thing was just swimming in circles, looking as out of place as I felt.

"That's Peeps," a voice said behind me. I jumped, nearly knocking over the bowl.

Taylor. Standing there. Water dripping from his hair. Smiling.

"Peeps?" I managed, sounding like I'd never spoken English before. Smooth.

"Yeah. My little sister won him at the carnival last week. She's obsessed." He leaned closer. "He's kinda got main character energy, right?"

I laughed. Actual laughter came out of my mouth. We were talking about a fish. A FISH. This was fine. Everything was—

"BISCUIT! NO!" Taylor's little sister came tearing out the back door. Their golden retriever, apparently named Biscuit, bounded after her, tail like a metronome set to presto. The dog saw the fish bowl. The dog saw freedom. The dog saw NOTHING ELSE.

The crash happened in slow motion. Glass shattering. Water everywhere. And suddenly, there was Peeps, flopping on the concrete, living his worst trauma.

I didn't think. I just—dropped. Scooped up the fish with my bare hands, made a running dive for the pool, and PLUNGED.

Like, full-on cinematic moment. Me, fully dressed, iPhone in my pocket, diving into chlorinated waters with a goldfish cupped in my palms like some weird wildlife rescuer.

Silence. Then:

"DUDE," someone whispered. "That was legendary."

I surfaced, hair plastered to my face, holding Peeps like he was made of diamond. The fish was fine. The iPhone? Not so much.

Taylor stared at me. Then he started laughing. Not mean laughing—like, actually laughing. "You literally just saved my sister's fish from becoming dog food. You're, like, unintentionally hardcore."

"My phone," I groaned, pulling out my soaked iPhone. It was gone. Absolutely finished.

"Dude," Taylor said, grinning. "That was worth it. Also, you have water in your hair. Like, everywhere."

"I know," I said. And I did know. My hair was a disaster, my phone was dead, I smelled like chlorine, and I was holding a fish.

And somehow? This was the best night of my life.

Later, Maya texted my now-dead phone: *TELL ME EVERYTHING. I HEARD YOU SAVED A FISH?!*

Some stories, you can't make up. Some nights, you're just trying to survive a party, and you end up finding yourself at the bottom of a pool, cradling a goldfish named Peeps, while your crush looks at you like you're the most interesting person he's ever met.

Some nights, you stop trying to be perfect. And that's when everything actually begins.