Goldfish Summer

Leo's baseball glove sat in the corner of his room, gathering dust like a secret he couldn't quite admit to himself yet. His dad had bought it last spring, certain that Leo would make varsity, follow in the footsteps of his older brother Ryan. But Leo had other dreams that didn't involve cleats or batting averages.

The only thing that knew the truth was Finnick, his orange goldfish who swam in endless circles around his tiny castle. Leo would sprawl on his bed, spilling his heart to a fish who couldn't judge him.

"I don't want to try out, Finnick," Leo whispered one afternoon in June. "I want to join the drama club instead."

His mom bustled in with her usual array of supplements. "Time for your vitamin D, sweetie. Drama kids need strong bones too." She winked, and Leo wondered if she knew everything or nothing at all.

The real trouble started when Maya, the girl he'd been crushing on since seventh grade, caught him singing show tunes in the empty gymnasium. Instead of mocking him, she sat beside him on the bleachers.

"You have an amazing voice," she said, and Leo felt something shift inside him, like Finnick had finally decided to swim outside his castle walls.

"My dad thinks baseball is the only thing that matters," Leo admitted, his voice cracking.

Maya shrugged. "My parents think I should focus on academics, but I live for the stage. We could be dramatic outcasts together."

The next day, Leo put the baseball glove in the donation box. He tried out for the spring musical instead, landing the lead role. Opening night, his dad sat in the front row, and when Leo took his bow, his father stood up and clapped until his hands were raw.

Afterward, Leo found Finnick swimming happily, his orange scales catching the stage lights Leo had left on for good luck. Sometimes the bravest thing isn't hitting a home run—it's finally swimming out of your castle.