Goldfish Witness Protection

My hair looked like a papaya exploded on it. Not the cute aesthetic kind — more like I'd stuck a fork in an electrical outlet while eating tropical fruit.

"You good, bro?" Marcus asked, not looking up from his phone.

"Fr fr, just contemplating existence," I lied, pulling my hood up. The cafeteria noise hit different today — everyone whispering about Jordan's party Friday, and somehow I wasn't invited. Again.

Fourth period, I became a spy. Not the cool Netflix kind with gadgets and sipping martinis in Monte Carlo. The stalking-social-media-from-the-bathroom-stall kind. Jordan's story: papaya punch bowl, fairy lights, people who mattered.

My goldfish, Admiral Finbar, witnessed my existential crisis later that day. I fed him those weird flakes while venting about how I'd rather French a bulldog than confront Jordan about why I'm somehow invisible.

"No cap, Finbar. It's the whole hair thing, isn't it?" His glass-eyed stare said everything: "Main character energy problem detected."

Friday night arrived. I papaya-panic-texted Marcus: should I crash it? His response: "Bet. Pull up."

So I did. Hair still doing its impression of a tropical disaster. The party was loud, the punch suspiciously neon. Jordan walked over, red cup in hand, and I braced myself.

"Yo!" They grinned. "Was looking for you."

My brain short-circuited. "Huh?"

"IG invite list glitched or something, you weren't on it," Jordan said like it was nothing. "Glad you made it anyway."

I stood there, processing, while someone in the background shouted about playing Truth or Dare.

Admiral Finbar would've been proud. I'd spent the whole week spying on stories I wasn't part of, when the truth was simpler than I thought. Sometimes you're not invisible. You're just on a glitchy list.

"Hair looks fire, by the way," Jordan added.

I actually laughed. "Papaya aesthetic, you know?"

They didn't even question it. That's when I realized: nobody's actually watching you as hard as you're watching yourself. Not even close.

Finbar, keeping it real in his bowl, would approve.