Orange Hair and Goldfish

The pyramid of red solo cups towered above me like some ancient monument to bad decisions. I stood in the corner of Jordan's basement, nursing my orange soda and feeling like the world's most awkward extra in a teen movie.

"You gonna stand there all night or actually say hi to her?" My best friend Marcus nudged me, nearly making me spill my drink.

I followed his gaze across the room. There she was—Chloe, with that wild orange hair that made her look like a human flame. She was laughing at something, head tilted back, completely unbothered. Meanwhile, I was over here calculating escape routes like my life depended on it.

My brain was swimming like a goldfish in a bowl, forgetting everything I'd practiced in the mirror. The goldfish comparison wasn't far off—three-second memory span when it came to talking to my crush.

"Bro, you're overthinking it," Marcus said, grabbing a handful of cheddar goldfish from a snack bowl. "Just go over there and say hey. What's the worst that happens?"

"She could laugh in my face? Could literally expire on the spot? Could realize I'm nothing special?"

"Or she could think you're cute and you could finally stop making heart eyes at her from across every classroom," he countered.

I stared at the snack bowl. Goldfish. Goldfish had it easy. Swim around, eat flakes, forget everything three seconds later. No anxiety, no crushes, no pyramids of red cups judging them.

"Alright, I'm doing it." I straightened my flannel. "Wish me luck."

"You got this," Marcus called. "Don't be weird!"

Easier said than done. I weaved through the crowd, heart doing that nervous flutter thing it always did. Chloe was near the drink table now, and the orange soda cans were stacked beside the red cup pyramid like some color-coded shrine.

She turned just as I approached. Her eyes were this surprising golden color, like honey in sunlight.

"Hey," she said, smiling. "I like your flannel."

My brain short-circuited. "Thanks. I like your... hair?" Cool, very smooth.

She laughed. It wasn't mean. It was genuine. "Thanks! My mom hates it. Says I look like a traffic cone."

"Traffic cones wish they were this cool," I heard myself say.

Chloe's smile widened. "You're funny. I'm Chloe, by the way."

"Leo. I'm Leo."

"I know," she said, and my stomach did this flip thing. "We have English together. You always sit by the window."

She noticed me. She actually noticed me.

"Want to play beer pong?" she asked, gesturing to the cup pyramid. "I need a partner who won't make me lose."

"I'm terrible at it, just so you know."

"Even better. We can be terrible together."

As we walked toward the table, I caught Marcus's eye across the room. He gave me a thumbs up.

Maybe I wasn't a goldfish after all. Some things were worth remembering.