Goldfish Summers

The goldfish — a carnival prize I'd won with zero skill — stared at me through its bowl like it knew something I didn't. Its name was Toast, because obviously.

"You need more water," Mom said, sliding a glass across the kitchen counter. "And take your vitamin." She was in that phase where she thought hydration and supplements could fix my teenage angst.

"I'm fine," I said, even though I definitely wasn't. Junior year was looming like a storm cloud, and my best friend Sarah had spent all summer group-chatting about parties I wasn't invited to.

The first day of school, I decided to reinvent myself. New outfit, new vibe, new me. I'd been running every morning — partly because Dad said cross country would look good on college apps, partly because it gave me something to do besides overthink everything.

But the universe had other plans.

Third period, the power went out. Mr. Harrison's lecture on symbolism ground to a halt, and someone shouted: "Someone cut the cable!" Which wasn't technically true, but teenagers love drama.

We were evacuated to the gym. I ended up sitting next to Evan, the quiet kid who'd moved here last year and somehow already had better hair than me.

"That your fish?" he asked, gesturing to the photo I'd stupidly set as my lock screen.

"His name's Toast. He's... depressed."

"Fish get depressed?"

"Google it."

Evan laughed, and it was this genuine, surprising sound that made my stomach do that annoying flutter thing.

The cable outage lasted all day. No internet, no phones — school had dead zones anyway. We ended up talking about everything: his old house, my parents' divorce (awkwardly), how Toast was probably fine but I was projecting.

"You run?" he asked, noticing my shoes.

"Trying to."

"Come with me sometime. There's this trail behind the old arcade."

And that's how it started — not with some dramatic makeover, but with a power outage and a depressed goldfish and a boy who noticed the small things.

That night, I gave Toast extra water and actually took my vitamin. Some things were still changing, but at least I wasn't facing them alone anymore.