Memory Like a Goldfish

The carnival lights blurred together, leaving streaks of neon against the darkness. I stood there holding the stupid plastic bag with the goldfish inside—Carrot, because obviously orange—while Jace laughed with his friends near the ring toss booth.

"You coming?" Jace yelled, already halfway across the midway. "We're gonna hit the food court before Sara's party."

"Yeah, just gotta put Carrot in my car first," I called back, trying to sound chill even though my stomach was doing that thing where it felt like I'd swallowed a whole water balloon filled with anxiety.

Sara's pool party. The social event of the season, apparently. And I'd been invited-ish. As in, Jace was my friend, so I got the secondary invite through proximity. Classic move.

The party scene was exactly what you'd expect: girls with perfect beach waves laughing at jokes that weren't funny, guys trying way too hard to be effortlessly cool, and the whole setup feeling like some ancient trial designed to test your worthiness. Which, honestly, made the giant stone sphinx statue in Sara's backyard—their family was "eccentric rich," apparently—feel weirdly fitting. It stared blankly at all of us, like it knew we were all being incredibly fake.

"Maya! You made it!" Sara appeared, somehow looking effortless in a swimsuit while I stood there fully clothed, clutching my phone like a lifeline. "The water's perfect."

Right. The water. The problem.

See, the thing nobody knew about me? I couldn't swim. Like, at all. And at seventeen, that's not exactly something you announce. So I'd spent three years perfecting the art of the "I'll watch everyone's stuff" excuse. But there was only so long you could hold your phone before people noticed you never actually went in.

I made my way to the edge of the pool, toes curling away from the deck. Everyone was splashing, laughing, living their best lives. Meanwhile, I was calculating the exact right moment to fake a phone call or suddenly remember I'd left my oven on.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" a voice asked.

I jumped. It was Jake—Sara's older brother, home from college, standing there holding two sodas. "You look like you're solving for x."

"Just thinking about that sphinx," I blurted. "What's up with it?"

"Oh, the riddle thing?" He smiled, and it was actually kind of genuine. "My dad got it in Egypt. Said it's supposed to represent life's big questions. You know, 'what walks on four legs in the morning...' all that."

"Original."

"Yeah, well." He leaned against the pool edge. "I think the real question is why you're standing here fully dressed while everyone else is in the pool. Unless you're secretly part mermaid and can't get your tail wet."

I snorted before I could stop myself. "Wouldn't that be convenient."

"So what's actually up?"

And I don't know if it was the carnival lights still in my head, or Carrot swimming in his little bag in my car, or the fact that Jake was somehow making this less terrifying, but I found myself saying it.

"I can't swim. Like, at all. I sink like a stone. I've been faking it for three years."

There. It was out. The sphinx had received its answer.

Jake didn't laugh. He didn't look at me like I'd grown another head. He just said, "You know, my little sister couldn't swim until last year. She took private lessons. Said they were way less embarrassing than learning with a bunch of random kids staring."

"Oh."

"I could give you the number. If you want."

"Yeah," I said, something in my chest loosening. "Actually, yeah. That would be... great."

Jace called my name from the pool, but I didn't feel that water-balloon anxiety anymore. Some things you could figure out later. And apparently, the sphinx's riddles weren't always what you expected them to be.