Goldfish Therapy

The pet store smelled like regret and cedar chips, which honestly wasn't that different from my school's hallway after lunch. I was hiding behind the fish food display, nursing a very specific kind of social anxiety that only exists when your crush walks in ten minutes before your shift ends.

"Hey, you work here, right?"

I turned around and there he was. Bear—not his real name, obviously, but nobody called him Barry anymore since he grew six inches sophomore year and startedVarsity quarterback. He was holding a tiny plastic container like it contained explosives instead of... I squinted.

"Is that a goldfish?"

"His name is Neptune," Bear said, with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for announcing a death in the family. "He's not eating. I think he needs vitamins."

I stared at him. The quarterback of my high school's football team, the guy who could bench press my entire extended family, was asking me about goldfish healthcare. This felt like a fever dream.

"Goldfish don't really take—"

"My sister says they do." He looked desperate. "Please. Neptune's been with me through everything. My parents' divorce, when I didn't make starting quarterback freshman year, when Maddie texted me that weirdly long paragraph about how she 'just wasn't ready for something serious' but then started dating Tyler two days later—"

"Okay, wow." I held up my hand. "Too much information. But also, I respect your emotional vulnerability, which is oddly endearing for someone who can probably throw a football through a wall."

He cracked a smile. "My therapist says I should talk about feelings more. She suggested a pet to practice caring for something. My mom got me Neptune. He's supposed to be my emotional support animal."

"Bear, you have a literal emotional support goldfish named Neptune. This is simultaneously the saddest and most amazing thing I've ever heard."

"So... vitamins?"

I sighed, walked around the counter, and grabbed the correct fish food. "Neptune probably just needs better food and maybe someone to talk to. Which, same, honestly."

Bear laughed, and something in my chest did a tiny flip. "Want to come meet him? He's in my car. I could drive you home after your shift."

"I get off in eight minutes."

"Perfect. I'll tell Neptune he's about to have company." He paused. "You can ask him about my feelings. He's a really good listener."

"I bet," I said, already reaching for my phone to text my best friend that I was absolutely going to be late to our study session. "I bet."