Pool Party Panic

The moment I stepped into Jordan's backyard, I knew this party was going to be a disaster. My best friend Sierra had ghosted my texts all week, and now here she was, leaning against a fake **palm** tree like she owned the place, laughing with the basketball squad.

I hovered near the snack table, pretending to be fascinated by a bowl of **orange** slices while trying to look chill. Not sus at all, right?

Then I saw it—a red solo cup making its slow, determined journey toward the patio edge. Inside swam a lone **goldfish**, looking thoroughly confused about its life choices.

"Yo, who put a fish in there?" I asked, but nobody heard me over the bass-heavy trap music vibrating through the speakers.

The crowd cleared a path as Jason Miller—otherwise known as "**Bear**" because the dude is literally massive—approached, probably to flirt with Sierra. My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to stomach.

"Dude, your fish is escaping," someone yelled, but too late. The cup tipped. The goldfish flopped onto the concrete, gasping like my chances of ever being socially adequate.

Without thinking, I scooped it up and sprinted toward the pool, Sierra and everyone watching like I'd finally lost it. I released the fish into the chlorinated water, where it darted away like, "thanks for the save, weirdo."

"That was... unexpected," Sierra said, finally noticing me.

"Fish gotta swim," I said with a shrug, while my face burned hotter than July asphalt.

But then she smiled—really smiled—and I realized maybe tonight wasn't going to be so terrible after all.

"You're such a dork," she laughed, bumping my shoulder. "Wanna get some actual food?"

And just like that, the ice broke. The **goldfish** survived, the **orange** slices remained untouched, and somehow, so did we.