Goldfish Witness

My hair was supposed to be sunset orange. Instead, it looked like a traffic cone exploded on my head.

"You look like you're about to direct airplanes," Leo said, leaning against the padel court fence.

I flipped him off. "Shut up. This is literally exactly what the box showed."

"The box didn't have your face attached to it, though." His grin was doing that thing where his left dimple appeared—the one I'd been pretending not to notice since seventh grade.

We were supposed to be playing padel. Instead, I was having an existential crisis while Leo's stupid goldfish swam in its bowl on the bench, watching me like it was judging my life choices.

"Why did you even bring him?" I pointed at the fish. "Who brings a goldfish to a sports court?"

"His name is Fernando." Leo dribbled the padel ball. "And he's emotionally supportive."

"Your fish is emotionally supportive."

"More than you've been lately." He said it lightly, but something flickered in his expression.

My chest tightened. I'd been distant lately, ever since I realized my feelings for Leo had evolved from friendship into something that made my stomach do gymnastics. So I'd dyed my hair orange. Because apparently that's what you do when you're sixteen and don't know how to process emotions—you make questionable cosmetic choices.

Leo set down the padel racquet and walked over to where I sat. "You look good, Mae. The orange suits you."

"I look like a traffic cone."

"You look like someone who's not afraid to be different." He sat beside me, our shoulders touching. "I like that."

Fernando the goldfish swam to the front of his bowl, bubbles rising to the surface like tiny excuses I wasn't making.

"Your fish is staring at us."

"He knows," Leo said softly. "Fernando knows everything."

The orange hair wasn't about standing out. It was about being seen—really seen—for the first time in years. And apparently, so was this moment.

"Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"Your fish has terrible taste in friends."

He laughed, and it was the sound of everything finally falling into place. "Yeah," he said, leaning closer. "But he's got excellent taste in girls."

The padel court was forgotten. The orange hair didn't matter. Even the goldfish stopped staring. For the first time, I didn't want to be invisible at all.