Goldfish & the Pyramid Scheme

My brother's fedora sat on my desk like a dead animal. A proper felt hat, the kind that says 'I'm different' but actually whispers 'please notice me.' I tried it on. stared in the mirror. Who was I kidding? I looked like a sophomore who'd discovered indie music last week.

Then my phone buzzed. Chloe. The actual human equivalent of a fox—sleek, clever, somehow always three steps ahead. 'Party tonight. Bring something fun.'

I looked at the goldfish bowl on my dresser. Barnaby had been my companion since sixth grade, surviving through braces, my emo phase, and that time I accidentally dyed my hair green. He was just a fish, but he'd seen me at my lowest.

'Fun' what? I typed back. My room was a pyramid of empty LaCroix cans and half-finished homework. Not exactly party fodder.

My mom appeared in the doorway. 'Did you take your vitamin?'

'Yes, Mom.' I hadn't.

She frowned at my outfit. 'You're not wearing that hat, are you?'

I took it off.

The party was at Tyler's house. Tyler, who'd somehow assembled the high school social pyramid with himself at the apex. I arrived with nothing except a sweatshirt I'd worn three days straight and a stomach doing gymnastics.

Chloe found me immediately. 'You came.'

'I brought nothing,' I admitted. 'Unless you want a goldfish. His name's Barnaby. He's a really good listener.'

She laughed. It sounded like something expensive. 'I'll take it. What's his story?'

So I told her about Barnaby's journey through my awkward years. She listened, actually listened, and somewhere between 'the time I got rejected by three girls in one week' and 'when my parents split,' her phone stayed in her pocket.

Later, Tyler made some joke about my fedora—which I'd brought anyway because I'm a masochist—and the room went quiet. But Chloe just rolled her eyes. 'At least he owns it,' she said. 'What's your thing again? Being rich?'

The room erupted. Tyler's face turned the color of a poorly maintained pool.

We ended up on the porch, sharing headphones and a blanket that smelled like someone's cat. I told her about my pyramid scheme of a life—layer upon layer of pretending to have it figured out. She admitted she'd voted for Trump as a joke and had been regretting it since eighth grade.

'Take this,' she said, pressing something into my hand. A vitamin? No. A tiny golden fish charm. 'For Barnaby. And for you.'

'For me?'

'For being real,' she said. 'It's rare.'

Barnaby got a new friend. I got Chloe's number. And Tyler? Tyler got humiliated by a girl who'd just compared him to our sitting president.

Some nights, you bring nothing. Some nights, that's everything.