Goldfish Summer

The goldfish bowl sat on my nightstand, its single occupant staring at me with what I swear was judgment. "You're not gonna make it at the pet store," my friend Jordan had said when I won the fish at the carnival last week. "Bet you five bucks it doesn't survive the summer."

I was working my first real job at Pet Paradise, trying to save up for the iPhone 15 while my friends were all at the lake. Swimming parties, beach days—meanwhile, I smelled like rodent bedding and processed fish food.

"New kid," said Marcus, the assistant manager who definitely wasn't thirty but acted like it. "The cable guy's coming to fix the surveillance system. Don't touch anything."

Our store had been dealing with break-ins, hence the fancy new security cameras. I watched through the glass as the cable van pulled up, and then my heart did that embarrassing flutter thing.

Taylor.

From my AP English class, who'd sat three rows ahead and never noticed my existence. Taylor, who wore oversized hoodies and had that perfect effortless messy hair. Taylor, who was now climbing out of a cable company van.

"Hey," Taylor said, walking in with a toolbelt. "You go to North High?"

My brain short-circuited. "Yeah! I mean, yeah. AP English?"

Taylor grinned. "I've seen you around. You're always reading during lunch."

I could've died. Of all the things they noticed about me, it was my loner status.

The security installation took forever. I kept finding excuses to walk past the front of the store, making sure Taylor saw me "organizing the premium dog food" (which didn't need organizing) and "restocking the aquarium filters" (which were already stocked).

Then I saw it—a flash of orange outside the store window. A fox, trotting through the parking lot like it owned the place, carrying something in its mouth.

"No way," I whispered, pulling out my phone.

"What?" Taylor appeared beside me.

"Fox. In the parking lot."

Taylor squinted. "Whoa. You spy wildlife too? That's kinda cool."

SPY? The word hung between us. Did Taylor think I was some sort of creep now?

"I mean, not spy spy," I backpedaled. "Just... notice things."

"Hey, noticing is good." Taylor's phone buzzed. "Done with the cameras. Your manager wants to test the feed."

We watched the monitor as Marcus tested each camera. Camera 1: perfect. Camera 2: crystal clear. Camera 3...

"Why is Camera 3 pointed at your car?" Marcus asked.

Taylor turned the shade of a sunset. "That's... weird. Must've bumped it."

But I saw it—the recording showed Taylor standing by their car earlier, on a phone call. "Yeah, I'm working now... no, she's really cool... I think she likes reading... maybe I'll ask..."

My stomach did that flutter thing again, but this time it wasn't embarrassment.

The fox appeared on the monitor, walking right up to Taylor's car and depositing what it was carrying—a stolen goldfish bag from the carnival next door—before trotting away like it had just completed a mission.

"Did that fox just..." Marcus started.

"Return a stolen goldfish?" Taylor finished. We all stared at the screen in silence.

Then Taylor turned to me. "So, about that swimming party at Jordan's this weekend..."

"You're going?"

"Was thinking about it." Taylor's grin was back. "Unless you'd rather show me where you spotted that fox instead."

My goldfish swam to the front of its bowl and did a little flip.

"The fox sighting," I said, trying to sound casual, "is an exclusive tour. But I could make an exception."

"Good," Taylor said. "Because I've been trying to find a reason to talk to you all year."

Maybe summer jobs weren't so bad after all.