Operation Goldfish

Jordan's morning routine started with the orange vitamin C his mom insisted would keep him from getting sick before playoffs. He swallowed it dry, staring at his goldfish, Bases, who swam in circles in its bowl on the nightstand.

"You're lucky, bro," Jordan muttered. "No expectations. No tryouts. Just swim and look chill."

Jordan had been the star pitcher since freshman year, but lately, baseball felt more like a job than a passion. His dad lived vicariously through every strikeout, while Jordan just wanted to disappear into the bleachers.

At lunch, Jordan sat in his usual spot — the corner table with a perfect view of the courtyard. His best friend Marcus called it his "spy station" because Jordan noticed everything: who was dating who, who was fighting, whose Instagram was fake. Being socially invisible had perks.

That's when he saw HER.

Maya was hitting a padel ball against the gym wall with some exchange students. Jordan had never seen anyone move like that — fluid, powerful, actually smiling while playing. Baseball was all stiff mechanics and anger. This looked... fun?

"Bro, you're staring again," Marcus said, sliding onto the bench. "Also, that goldfish on your shoulder is weird."

Jordan tapped the temporary tattoo he'd gotten from the little sister of his teammate. "It's ironic."

"Everything's ironic with you." Marcus gestured toward Maya. "Just go talk to her. She asked about you yesterday."

Jordan's vitamin C threatened to make a comeback. "What? Why?"

"Said she saw you pitch last season. Thinks you've got — and I quote — 'the most deceptive curveball in the district.'" Marcus grinned. "She wants you to teach her how to throw."

Jordan looked from Maya's infectious laughter back to his baseball bag slumped in the corner. "She plays padel. Why does she want to learn baseball?"

"Maybe she's trying something new?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Crazy concept, I know."

The bell rang. Jordan stood up, suddenly aware of his weird fish tattoo, his ridiculous spy station, and how much energy he'd spent wishing he was anywhere but himself.

"Hey," Jordan called out, walking toward Maya. His voice cracked, but he kept going. "I could show you. If you want."

Maya's smile was genuine. "Yeah? I've got this curved shot in padel I can't figure out. Maybe we can trade secrets."

As they walked toward the field, Jordan's phone buzzed — his mom reminding him about his vitamins. He smiled. Some things could wait.