Operation Goldfish Ghost

Marcus felt like a zombie by third period, the kind of walking dead that caffeinated energy drinks couldn't fix. His eyes burned from staying up until 3 AM grinding ranked matches, his brain foggy enough that he nearly walked into the wrong classroom again. Being a freshman at Northwood High was basically a tutorial level he hadn't prepared for.

"Dude, you look dead," said Jasmine, sliding onto the bench next to him at lunch. She was the only person who actually talked to him voluntarily, mostly because they'd been stuck together as lab partners since September.

"Rough night," Marcus mumbled, poking at his tray of cafeteria mystery meat.

"So I heard something about Tyler's party this Friday," Jasmine said, lowering her voice like she was sharing state secrets. "Word is, Sarah's gonna finally break up with Ethan."

Marcus perked up. Sarah, the junior who sat behind him in history, had been his low-key crush since the first week of school. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"How do you know this?" he asked.

Jasmine grinned. "I have my sources. But also, I saw them arguing near the lockers. Ethan looked, like, devastated."

That's when it hit Marcus — the perfect opportunity to finally make a move. But first, intel.

"I'll be right back," he said, abandoning his lunch.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he ducked into the library. Unknown number.

*U got the goods? - S*

Marcus's heart did a nervous little flip. Sophie, Sarah's best friend, had been DMing him all week about something "important." He'd been too scared to respond, convinced it was either a mistake or a cruel joke.

*What goods?* he typed, hands shaking.

*Sarah thinks ur cute. She's been asking about u. But ur always so quiet.*

Marcus stared at his screen, his face heating up. This wasn't supposed to happen. Nobody thought the quiet gamer kid was cute. That was, like, against the laws of high school.

*U serious?* he sent back.

*Dead serious. Just come to Tyler's party Friday. Bring ur A game.*

That night, Marcus sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his pet goldfish, Finnick, who'd been his only confidant through middle school loneliness.

"I think I might actually have a shot, buddy," he whispered to the orange fish, who did a little flip in response. "But what if I mess it up? What if she realizes I'm just some awkward freshman who's way out of his league?"

Finnick swam to the front of his bowl and just stared at him with those unblinking fish eyes.

"You're right," Marcus said. "I need a plan."

By Friday, Marcus had convinced himself he needed to gather more intel before the party. He'd become a self-appointed spy, strategically positioning himself within earshot of Sarah's friend group during lunch, pretending to be deeply invested in a game on his phone while soaking up crucial intel: Sarah's favorite songs (that he immediately added to his playlist), her weird obsession with horror movies (relatable), and how she hated guys who tried too hard (noted).

At the party that night, music thumped through the walls as Marcus stood near the snack table, nursing a soda and feeling painfully awkward. Couples were grinding way too close to each other, and the air smelled like cheap cologne and desperation.

Then Sarah walked in.

She spotted him almost immediately, weaving through the crowd. Marcus's heart was doing jumping jacks.

"Hey," she said, smiling. "Sophie said you've been asking about me?"

Marcus felt his face burn. "I mean, maybe? I was just—"

"It's cute," she interrupted. "You're not like all these other guys who think they're so smooth. You're actually real."

"Real," Marcus repeated, his zombie brain finally waking up. "That's good?"

"That's very good." She took his hand. "Wanna get some air? This party is giving me a headache."

As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Marcus realized something: he didn't have to be a spy anymore. He didn't have to pretend or investigate or strategize. Being himself — awkward crushes, bad sleep schedule, and all — was somehow exactly what she wanted.

"So," Sarah said, leaning against the porch railing. "Tell me about your goldfish. Sophie told me you have one."

Marcus laughed, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. "His name is Finnick. He's a terrible listener, but he's got my back."

"I'd love to meet him," she said.

And for the first time in forever, Marcus didn't feel dead at all. He felt awake. He felt ready.